


Spun

by lollercakes



Series: It's All in Your Head [9]
Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 58,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollercakes/pseuds/lollercakes
Summary: They say that if you never heal what hurt you, you’ll bleed all over people who didn’t cut you.Anne Shirley was fine. A life spent in the foster system was no easy feat but she was figuring it out. Or at least she thought she was until an assignment throws her so off balance that she's left spinning, trying desperately to find out who she is and where she belongs in a world that's chewed her up and spit her out.How do you heal from a wound you've never opened? How do you find your place when you don't know who you are? This is a story of hope, longing, and the need to belong.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Series: It's All in Your Head [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1125681
Comments: 142
Kudos: 401





	1. It's Alright

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes happy stories are harder to write and so I give in to my weakness and I write something angsty. Each chapter is titled after a song with a feel or a theme that works through the heart of the story. All the bands are Canadian because maybe they convey the experience better. I don't know. Let's see how this goes, okay?
> 
> It's Alright - Mother Mother

I needed a drink. Maybe four. Maybe a knock upside the head to forget everything, I didn't really know. All I knew was that I didn't want to feel like  _ this _ for one more second. Like my insides were twisting and I would never get out from under this crushing weight.

I look at my assignment again, the blank pages blinking back up at me. I wasn't going to get it done. There was no possible way. I couldn't even requisition my foster system records in the twelve hours I had before it was due. 

"Fuck," I breathe, slapping my laptop shut and bursting from my desk chair until it falls back against the floor. 

Drink first. That's what I would do. All I could do because if I thought for one more minute about everything that relied on me getting this assignment done I would lose my mind and my will to keep showing up. 

The campus bar is bustling as I drop onto a stool and request my first vodka soda, the crisp taste lacking as I order my second. I'm three drinks in when I finally start to feel relief, my shoulders relaxing as I watch a football game on the TV overhead. I don’t understand any of it but at least the image continues to flash and the sound knocks out any cognizant thoughts that could venture back towards the blinking cursor on my white page at home. 

"I didn't peg you for a sports fan," a familiar voice says from behind me as a chill runs up my spine. Gilbert Blythe. Friend and mentor and the frustrating feature star of my sheet-tangling dreams as of late, though I would never tell him that. It was either an omen or fate that he would find me here tonight, of all nights, and only having another drink would tell me which it was.

"I'm not but apparently I hold no sway over Jonathan here," I answer briskly as I flag down the bartender in question and order another drink. I lift my eyebrow in question as he falters, concern in his expression. "Don't make me ask Tracy - You know I'll tip her better," I add as he gives me grief for ordering too much, too quickly. 

"Can I sit here?" Gilbert interrupts, pulling out the stool beside me.

"I don't know, can you? Oh look, you already did," I chide. Gilbert shoots me a confused look before his gaze drops down to the empty glasses in front of me, an understanding look blooming on his face.

"Jon, can I get a beer and a water for my Anne here?"

" _ Your _ Anne? Ha!" I bark, turning my bleary eyes towards him and looking him over from head to toe. 

"Sorry," he amends softly. "How many have you had so far?" 

"Not enough to - "

"This will be her fourth and then she's cut off," Jonathan interjects as he sets down my drink.

"Good man, a bit judgey but still a good man," I mutter as I take a sip and disregard the insult attached to his tone

"Thanks Jon," Gilbert responds and I watch as he turns to look up at the TV, sipping his beer. He looks rough around the edges, his chin covered in stubble and his hair askew. I feel the need to comb it back into place with my fingers and before I realize what I'm doing he's looking at me, his expression unreadable. That, or I was tipsy and I had no hope of discerning the thoughts running inside his head. 

"Anne," he whispers, watching me steadily as I withdraw my hands back around my glass and away from his frame. What was I even  _ doing _ ?

"I'm having a fucking day. That's all," I state under my breath, staring into the ice cubes floating in my cup as my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Anything I can help with?" I shake my head at that, chewing my lip. 

Gilbert had always been a steady voice as I worked through problems - he’d had to be as my school-appointed student mentor that they gave to all incoming freshmen who might have a steeper slope to climb in the world of upper-tier academia. At first, our discussions revolved solely around adjusting to life here at school, pure coursework and classes and how to get around campus. He’d done his job getting me up to speed, I’d done mine by listening and showing up, and everything had been fine with the situation. At least it was fine until I finally let loose a frustrated rant about the lack of proper student services on campus after another failed attempt at accessing the wellness centre.

Since then he'd been more than a mentor, he’d become an ally, someone I could turn to for questions regardless of whether they were course related or not. He’d counselled me through my first year, even studying alongside me late into the night and joining me on coffee runs as he worked towards his own Cooper Prize scholarship. He’d been the wise third year to my foolhardy frosh-self and I don’t know if I could have made the transition without him. 

But that closeness came with troubles too. After a time, his questions started to become more probing, more intimate, and I had no choice but to shy away from the friendly familiarity that had started to build between us in the quiet hours of the library at night. I wasn't ready for what his expression promised when I caught him watching me sometimes and I definitely wasn’t ready to delve into the history that had brought me here on a scholarship I could scarcely maintain. I didn’t think I deserved whatever thoughts he pondered about me, the kind ones that he let slip in reassurance or the sweet ones that made my chest ache with a promise of belonging. 

And so I’d pushed him back further as of late, trying to focus on self-preservation by telling him the details about my fellow classmate Roy Gardner who had asked me on a date a month ago. When he started to process the news I had to fight to not let visible tears fill my eyes as he took the subtle rejection like a stoic war hero, one who made a hasty exit as quickly as he could soon after my confession. I hadn’t told him that I’d bailed on the date, too unsure of what I was feeling to go through with it. 

It had been one week since I’d seen him last. One long week without my friend, without the person I had come to rely on for talking me down from situations just like the one I found myself in tonight. Sure, we’d texted a few times, sometimes for hours on end, but every time he’d suggested we get together for coffee I’d thrown up the barrier like the Berlin Wall and tried to stem the bleeding my own rejection caused within me. Now he was here, like a moth to my flame of self-destruction and looking as rough as I probably did because of it. 

“So who are you cheering for then? Argos or Ti-Cats??” He questions instead of pushing me on what I wasn’t prepared to discuss. Thank God. 

“I like the blue team,” I mumble as I try to wrap my lips around my straw. I chew on the end and glance at him out of the corner of my eye, my hands itching to reach for him like they did that one afternoon in the park just before the semester started. 

_“You’re trying to measure yourself up against everyone else,”_ _Gilbert murmurs as my anxious words finally still. He turns his head to look at me as we lay in opposite directions in the grass, our heads near each others shoulders as we watch the sky overhead. “You don’t need to do that, you know. You’re more than enough just as you are.” _

_ His words make my chest hurt, their gentle reassurance and kindness overwhelming me in my moment of doubt. Instead of looking at him, instead of letting him see my weakness, I keep my eyes trained towards the sky and swallow the needy words that want to spill from me.  _

_ But it’s not enough and I give in, twisting to look at him and finding his eyes trained on mine, his gaze dipping down to my lips as I exhale a shaky breath. I could no longer stop myself from taking the comfort he so openly offered and so I shift and reach for his lips with mine. The awkward upside down angle is tricky until he meets me halfway, lifting his hand to cup my chin and bring us both up until we’re leaning into one another. It's brief, gentle, and when we eventually break apart our foreheads rest together, his fingers drifting down from their place against my neck as he lets slip a sigh that I feel in my bones.  _

Any outsider would have looked at us that afternoon and thought we were together, that we were taking advantage of the sun and the cool breeze and reveling in each other. But afterwards, somehow, we’d both decided not to speak of the shared tentative kisses under the branches of the swaying willow, the whole moment stolen by my inability to connect, to trust someone else. 

“So… Argos then. Interesting,” he pauses and I feel him rather than see him shift towards me, his elbow bumping mine. 

“Hey!” I jolt, pulling away even though all I wanted was to lean into him and ask for his arms to wrap around me, to absolve me from the inward facing anger I was feeling at not finishing my project. Instead he rolls his eyes and steadies my hand with his palm, giving my fingers a squeeze before withdrawing. It’s a friendly touch and yet our growing closeness implies more and puts my nerves on edge in a way I was ready to numb with another drink. 

We sit in relative silence as I nurse my final alcoholic beverage before reluctantly moving onto the court-ordered glass of water. Gilbert finishes a second pint before the game starts to round into the final quarter, his gaze landing on me more often than I want to admit. Eventually my vision starts to steady as the water rinses into my system, the edge of the abyss not looking so close as it did only a few hours ago. Maybe just hovering at the precipice was enough. Maybe I didn’t need to topple myself over just to escape from the misery that my deadline caused. 

“Are you sticking around longer or heading out?” Gilbert asks lowly as the final whistle is blown, his body turned towards me on the stool as I tap my card against the machine to pay for my drinks. I look towards him as the ‘Approved’ status flashes, my brow raised as I try to figure out his question. What did he want from my answer? 

“I was going to head out since Jonny here won’t give me what I want,” I answer loudly, pointedly avoiding meeting Gilbert’s eyes as the bartender’s returning call of insult makes me chuckle. “Don’t worry - 18% for you tonight Jonny, even though I can’t afford it,” I finish and get to my feet. I didn’t want to think about how I couldn’t afford the four drinks themselves, not on my limited savings and with my textbook fees swallowing the bulk of my available credit, but I wasn’t going to stiff someone just trying to make a buck either. I was poor, not cheap, and they were very different things.

Beside me Gilbert mirrors my movements and grabs my jacket before it can fall to the floor, his gentlemanly instincts winning as he holds it for me to slip my arms into the sleeves. I try to keep my head on straight as his knuckles brush my collar inadvertently, my skin searing with the touch. 

“Um, what would you say if I offered to walk you home?” He asks over my shoulder, words tentative as I reach for the zipper. I pause at his question, glancing up to see his cheeks with a bit of colour, his shoulders shrugging. “You can say no. I haven’t seen you much lately and I would just worry if I thought you were out there wandering around all night.” 

“I can get my own ass home, even if I’ve had a drink or two,” I counter as he raises his hands defensively. 

“I know - I know! Just… I want to.” 

“How about I walk  _ you _ home?” That seems to catch him off guard and he looks stunned for a second, his mouth opening and closing a few times before his lips widen into a smile. 

“Fine - I’ll give in for that. Walk me home, Ms Shirley,” he announces and then turns me by the shoulders to face the door. 

The walk through the quiet campus is easier than my mood had let me imagine it would be, Gilbert’s conversation skills keeping my brain mostly distracted from the blank Word document at home and the hurt that burned just below the surface of my skin at the question being asked by my professor. 

Where did I come from? Who had I belonged to? What was  _ my _ history? 

I didn’t want to think about it. Hadn’t that been why I’d opted to drown myself tonight instead? To stop my mind from wandering to places I couldn’t face?

“You seem lost in thought again,” Gilbert murmurs, drawing my wandering thoughts back to him as he leads us down a side street and onto a deserted road with pockets of light breaking through the tall trees. 

“It’s nothing,” I answer lowly, choosing instead to tuck my hands deep into my pockets to keep from reaching for him and the comfort I desperately craved. I needed a hug. I needed to know myself. Who I was and where I was from. I had a painful need to belong that only seemed to widen the chasm within me the longer I thought about it. 

“I would argue that you're not being entirely truthful with that statement.” He slows his pace and reaches for my arm, gently pulling me up short until I’m facing him head on. I glance at his eyes, dark in the low light, before turning my focus to the toes of his shoes. If he recognized the pain bouncing inside me I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my distance and so I force myself to look away, anywhere but up at him. 

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Stop being so perceptive,” I mumble and he laughs softly, causing me to look back up at him with a raised brow and a steeled expression. 

“It’s just - and I say this with all due affection - sometimes you run so hot and cold. One day we’ll be texting until two in the morning, or you’re telling me about every thought running through your mind, but the next you’re AWOL until I find you in the campus bar, locking me out as you drown yourself in vodka. I don’t get it. I want to, but I don’t,” he finishes with a shake of his head, a puzzled look on his face. 

How could he get it? I’d only known Gilbert since I started at Redmond over a year ago, my years in foster care in Halifax giving me no exposure to his whimsical island and the life he lived before here. We were from two very different places, he had a family I presumed that loved him, a small gable house that had taken him in after his father died. There was no way he could understand the life I’d lived up until now, the hardship of bouncing from place to place before I won the scholarship that got me here - the same one I was bound to lose when I failed this assignment - and I couldn’t find it in me to tell him the truth of my life. I’d rather spin a story of happiness, of a life well lived and full of love and family and friends. How could I ask him to understand anything else? 

It’s just - he could always tell, one way or another, when I was telling a story rather than my truth. So I forced myself to keep him at a distance as best I could, even when all I wanted was to lose myself in him. Like right now. 

“That’s not - I mean, I don’t know what to tell you except it’s not you,” I pause and try to take in air, my voice faltering as his expression softens. 

“I’ll have to take your word for it. Anyways, I stopped you because this is me, apartment 2C,” he adds, pausing to rub his jaw and tempting me to lift my palm to his cheek to feel what he feels. 

“Oh,” I swallow thickly, pushing that instinct down and looking around us, the empty street filled with dabbles of light from the streetlights shining overhead. “I guess I’ll - I mean, you’re here so I’ll let you go. Thanks for - whatever. Have a good night, Gil.” 

I turn on my heel and quickly start walking back the way we came, my heart hammering my chest with every step further I take. Behind me I can hear his shoe scuff the sidewalk before he jingles his keys. I try to keep facing forward, to force myself to stay clear of the solace he offers with his very existence, but for the first time in my life I lose my internal battle and look back towards him. 

“You got anything to drink up there?” I call as he twists to face me from his doorway, his hand hovering over the handle. 

“If the alternative is you finding another bar to drown your sorrows in instead of going home, then yes, I think I can find something.” 

Gilbert’s apartment is clean, sparsely furnished but still somehow homey, and his couch is comfortable enough as I sink into its worn leather while he mixes a drink for us in the kitchen. I try not to snoop through the books on his table but it’s impossible to resist.  _ War and Peace _ , a medical text, another medical text… He needed some light reading, that was clear. 

“I’m drawing the line at one drink for you,” he states as he hands me a tall vodka soda, easing himself down onto the seat at the opposite end of the couch. 

“Fair. I’m already one ahead of you,” I joke as I lift the glass to my lips. The fizz bubbles against my nose and I take a gulp to swallow my words, letting my nerves settle at being here in his apartment at this hour. 

“Two, but who’s counting?” He counters then, lifting his own glass in a silent cheers. 

“Mmm, but I had the water and I started before you, so it’s almost like we’re even, actually. Eh! Don’t argue with me! I’ll win!” I nudge his knee with my toe as he leans forward, his eyes bright with challenge. 

“Yes - but I’m practically twice your size. So  _ I win _ ,” he adds before playfully pushing my foot back to the floor. 

I refuse to lose and crawl towards him, my finger pressing into his chest as I get close enough to feel his breath on my lips. “I’m not a lush - I’m sober enough,” I whisper hotly. Everything tells me to keep space between us, to keep it civil, but I can’t fight it anymore. I needed distraction. I needed something other than this hurt to keep boiling in me. I needed out of my own head. 

He answers with his mouth against mine, his fingers brushing along my jaw as he tentatively reaches for me. There’s a moment - brief like a flash - that I hesitate before sinking towards him and giving in. This was  _ Gilbert _ . If I broke it… What if I lost that friendship? But then I realize the thought that solidifies me easing in closer to him. Who knew if I’d be here in a month anyways? I had nothing left to lose except the chance to taste him, to feel his heat wrap around me as I crawl into his lap. 

I lose myself against him, my knees straddling his thighs as his hands tangle in my hair and he lifts up to meet me before drawing me closer. Lungs burn as I starve them for air, eventually gasping as he releases a small moan that makes me press down into his lap. I needed to be closer. I needed to submerge myself in him. To forget everything that existed outside of his touch. 

“Do you want - I mean, you don’t have to but - “ 

“I thought I was being clear what I want,” I whisper against his ear, my hips rolling against his lap as his hands drop to my waist. His thumbs play at the exposed skin above my pants, drawing small circles as I drop my forehead to his shoulder. 

“I wanted to be sure,” he murmurs and with a Herculean strength he lifts us both from the couch, his arms keeping me trapped against him. I squeak and tighten my legs around his waist while he moves us down the hallway and towards his bedroom. 

Inside the small space he lowers us onto the bed and crawls over me, his mouth grazing my collar as his hand works up and under my shirt. His rough palm makes the muscles in my belly jolt as he squeezes my breast and nips at my ear. I feel like I’m breaking a sweat as I fumble to pull his shirt over his head, to unhook his belt as he continues his ministrations by pushing the cups of my bra down my chest. 

His fingers twist playfully at my nipples before he drags his nose down my neck and starts to pull my shirt from my torso, discarding the item off the side of the bed. He groans softly as he looks down at me, his hand running along my chest before dropping to the fastenings of my pants. While he works at my button I release the hooks on my bra and shuck the item so we’re both bare-chested, heaving for air as we look at one another. 

When I’d finished class this afternoon, this was  _ not _ how I’d pictured the evening going. I thought I’d hide away in Patty’s Place, staring at my laptop and worrying about tomorrow. But this was anything but that. This was so much better of a distraction than I thought it could be. Why hadn’t I done this sooner? Self-preservation was for the birds - this was so much better than surviving myself.

“Come back to me, Anne,” he murmurs as his palm finds my cheek, his eyes searching mine as I look up towards him. He smiles then, grabbing at the waist of my pants and helping me pull them loose from my hips. His own jeans soon follow and then we’re both bare as the day we were born, easing down onto the bed as his lips find mine again. 

My tongue tastes and steals his breath, my hands pressing to his shoulders until I’ve guided him onto his back and I’m able to crawl atop him and catch my breath once more. He stares up at me with wide-eyed want, his dull nails leaving marks on my hips as I feel his length at the crux of my thighs. 

“Condom?” I murmur as I let my hips drag my wetness along his length to keep us both distracted enough from ourselves. 

“Top drawer,” he answers and flops a hand towards the bedside table. I shift off of him, ignoring his groan from my departure, and yank open the drawer. Forcing myself to stem the thoughts of realizing there was only a third of a beaten up box left, I grab one of the packages and rip it free to sheath him quickly. “Anne - look at me for a sec, okay?” He whispers as I return to his lap, my lip between my teeth. 

“What?” I ask more sharply than I intend as I try to stop my arms from crossing over my chest. 

“Are we sober enough for this? You’re for sure okay with this?” He asks and it seems almost painful to be confronted with my own thoughts. I try to look away, to lie to anything but his face, but he lifts his hand to my chin and grazes his thumb over my skin until all I can do is meet his gaze, nowhere else to look. 

“I’m sure,” I return evenly and before either of us can process it I drop my lips to his and steal my tongue into his mouth. I don’t give him a chance to see through my facade as I shift my hips and slide him inside, forcing my body to distract and disarm. 

His length makes me still as I accommodate him, the feeling bursting through me reminding me of the first time I’d done this with a boy from down the street. I’d wanted to escape what I was feeling then too, the angry words of the foster family I was staying with ricocheting within me as I tried to drown them out with grunts and moans. Maybe this was my habit. Maybe helping girls through this feeling was Gilbert’s. Who knew. Who cared. 

I start to move over him after a breath, my nipples grazing against the hair on his chest as his hands keep my lips centered against his. We work together in a slow crawl, exploring one another as our hips roll and push and draw. When I eventually sit up and lean my hands back against his knees he follows and trails kisses down my chest, nipping at my breast and holding me tightly in his hands. He tries to shift us, to ease me towards my back, but I press my hands against his shoulders and shake my head slowly. 

“I want you closer,” he murmurs, reaching for me and groaning as I nearly lift myself off of him. 

I couldn’t tell him that if I gave up this position I would lose everything. My mind. My heart. My ability to disengage. If all I had surrounding me, inside me, was him then I would never find my way out. 

“You can take me from behind,” I whisper into his ear as a compromise, hoping against hope the forward statement would cure him of his need for intimacy. His hands tighten where they grip, his breath stuttering on the exhale as I laugh softly at his stunned reaction. 

It only takes a second of pondering before he gives in and steers me off of him so he can twist onto his knees and clamour up behind me. His legs bump and then bracket mine and I feel his hand drop to my hip as he rubs his tip through my folds. When he fills me once more it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs, his hips pushing up against me again and again as his fingers bite into my skin. 

The change in position is enough to keep the distance I need and I rest my head against his pillows, losing myself in the feel of him thrusting into me in quick succession. My hand finds its place between my legs and I feel the orgasm coming over me like a wave, moaning lowly as it begins to tighten my muscles, my hand closing into a fist as I try to stave it off for another moment longer. 

Gilbert must sense it too because he wraps an arm around my chest and tucks his forehead against my shoulder, pumping into me in an unsteady rhythm until I crest and cry out. My body shudders under his as he grunts and pushes deep into me, emptying himself into the condom with a staggered breath. I feel weightless as my body collapses underneath him, my frame tumbling into the mattress as he leans over me to discard the used rubber in the bin beside his bed before wrapping himself around me. 

I know I should get up, put my clothes on, run for the fucking hills. I know I should do this but I can’t. I don’t want to ruin this high, this distracted bliss, to ruin the feeling that bursts inside me when Gilbert eases his body close to mine and links his fingers between my own. So instead I let my thoughts still as I fall asleep, curled in his arms and numb to the worries that plagued me only an hour ago. 

I wake at three in the morning, my nightmare about being kicked out of school fresh in my mind’s eye as I lift Gilbert’s arm from around my waist. Hurriedly I collect my clothes and duck into the hallway, pulling on my shirt and pants and grabbing my things from the living room table to leave no trace of myself behind. Escaping into the lobby, I tuck my undergarments into my bag and bolt from his apartment building. 

When I’m safely back at Patty’s Place I breathe a sigh of relief as I close the door, stealing up the staircase and avoiding the squeaky step. Inside my bedroom I beeline for my laptop, picking my chair up off the floor and grabbing a book from my shelf before settling into the seat.

My fingers work quickly to type out the assignment that was due in four hours, my last ditch attempt at trying to free myself from this predicament. I couldn’t give Professor Stacy what was asked but I could give her  _ something _ . Anything to try to stay and not be forced from the only place that had ever wanted me.


	2. The Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hills - The Weeknd

I wake the next morning sore, my head aching and my body twisted into a tight ball at the corner of my mattress. Beside me my laptop hums as the fan swirls, its screen bright with my submission page and the haunting reminder of what I’ve done. 

Shifting out of my tense position, I roll onto my back and look up at the ceiling above me and its dappled stucco. My mind wanders back to the restless night I’d had, the way I’d fallen asleep with Gilbert at my back only to be woken up in the middle of the night to fears that I would lose my scholarship and my place here at Redmond. I’d left without saying anything, without wanting to wake him, too caught up in my own fears to process any of the decisions I’d made in the haze of alcohol and self-destruction. Now I’d just cheated on an assignment and it was only a matter of time before I destroyed my future and my chance at making it out of the system.

“Fuck,” I breathe, rubbing my hands into my eyes and sighing forcibly. Like an alert that could sense I was about to lose my mind, my phone buzzes on my bedside table and I reach for it to tap the screen awake. 

_ Where’d you go? Was it something I said in my sleep? ;) - 9:06am _

_ What time did you leave? - 10:43am _

_ You okay? - 12:22pm _

The last message blinks up at me, Gilbert’s texts throughout the morning making me inwardly groan. I shouldn’t have just left like that. I knew better. I  _ knew _ it wasn’t going to fly like any of the other one night stands I’d had since I was old enough to make my own choices. This was different. It was Gilbert. We were building something together, I just couldn’t admit it out loud. Or at all. And maybe that’s what made it worse that I’d run away like that. Or that I’d used him to get out of my own head. 

I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know how to respond to his messages. Not now. Maybe I would never know. And so I do what I know is shitty of me but my only option right now, I leave his messages on  _ Read _ and press my fingers into my eyes. 

“Jesus Christ, Anne,” I lambast myself, dropping the phone on the table again and pulling the pillow over my head. 

I nap for the rest of the afternoon, only crawling out from under my sheets when my calendar reminder goes off for my weekly Sunday dinner with the Lacroix’s. 

I was definitely not up for  _ that _ tonight. I couldn't look them in the eye after what I'd done, how I'd let them down, so instead I quickly send a text off to Bash and tell him I won't be coming. He doesn't press me like Mary would have, instead simply acknowledging my message and hoping I'm well.

If only he knew I was anything _ but _ well right now. Maybe he would have dragged Mary over here, maybe they would have brought me takeout and talked me down from my own ledge like they were so prone to do. I could use them right now, if I was being honest, but I couldn't bring this to them - not after everything they'd done to help me get here.

No, I would have to go it alone from here on in and take my licks on my own.

I lay awake for most of the night though my mind goes nowhere productive. All I can think about is what will happen when they find out I've cheated - where will I go when I no longer have Redmond to go to? What would come next? Would anyone hire me without a degree? Would I find somewhere to live on my own if I didn't have the girls of Patty's Place to rely on? The anxious thoughts round on and on with no solutions, the worry compounding more the later it gets.

When my alarm sounds for class the next day I reluctantly get dressed and try to put some life back into my face, frowning at the bags under my eyes. I look as rough as I feel and it sours my mood as I pull my satchel over my shoulder and trudge towards school.

I spend the next few days living in a loop - attending classes but retaining nothing, napping the remainder of the day until the sun sets and then restlessly tossing and turning throughout the night until I have nothing else to do but get up and research where I would go after my expulsion.

On the third day the girls start to notice, Pris even knocking on my door when she gets in after a late night studying at the library. I keep her at bay by feigning working on a story, my lie adding to the growing pile I tuck in the pit of my stomach. By the end of the first week I'm exhausted, my nerves on edge whenever a professor calls on me in class or my phone buzzes with another hopeful message from Gilbert. 

To his credit, his messages had grown more infrequent over the last few days. His initial worry and phone calls had stopped when I’d finally given in and answered him with a short message: 

_ I'm okay.  _

It had taken him an hour to reply, the three blinking dots haunting me as I tried to ignore the want I felt to message him more. To call him. To talk to him and go to him. 

_ I'm glad you're okay. If you need me, you know where to find me. _

He didn’t ask where I'd been, why I hadn’t replied to him, and I tell myself that maybe his lack of questioning was because he didn't really care that much. Because he figured after these last few days I was clearly not worth the chase. I hated these thoughts more than any of the others. They were insidious, vicious and went against everything I’d worked so hard to push back against all of these years. 

I couldn’t manage to pull myself out of my wallowing and when the girls suggest we go out for a night of debauchery I finally feel like maybe I have an escape, like when I’m fucked up it must be the real me who finally can take this weight on. And so I play along as we all get ready, pre-drinking in the living room and slapping on a happy face as we laugh and joke. By the time we head out I’m already unsteady on my feet but I push through the fog and follow Phil along the edge of the sidewalk until we’re in the bar and there are enough bodies to keep me upright as we sway to the music. 

Time moves in an uncertain way when I drink. Sometimes it feels like hours have passed in the span of twenty minutes. Other times it will shift and last call will come overhead like a shock to the system. Tonight was a mix of the two, the songs blending together as I lose myself in the crowd and the lights and the thump of the beat in my chest. 

“I didn’t think I’d find you out tonight,” a voice calls over my shoulder, a set of palms grazing my sides as I let the beat carry me. The hands press along my waist and they feel too familiar as they slip under the edge of my shirt. The voice doesn’t ask to crowd in closer, instead pushing up against my back until all I can feel is him holding me in place, fingers biting into my hip bones. 

The alcohol manages to numb my panic and I’m thankful for that as I try to keep my head steady, forcing myself to go with the man dancing at my back. I tell myself to make it to the end of the song, to make an excuse to escape from Gilbert’s grip, but the hands turn forceful as I try to withdraw and when I turn it’s not Gilbert at all. A wave of sharp awareness washes over me and I press my palm to my brow, shaking my head as Roy reaches for me and sidles himself closer. 

“Come now, Anne, don’t stop dancing. We were just getting started,” he shouts over the music and jerks me against his chest. I stumble into him and he takes the upper hand, holding me and grinding against me as I try to push him back. 

There’s too much alcohol in my system, too much misery, and I can’t escape it. 

I needed out. I needed air. I needed - 

“Anne, we’re leaving!” Phil shouts into my ear, her hand gripping my shoulder as I twist to face her. My tear-streaked cheeks give me away and Phil turns on Roy, slapping at his hands as he shouts and tries to push her away. All around us people step back and Phil continues to try to help me break free, her own drunken movements barely making a dent as he continues to cling to me. 

“Come on, buddy,” a man says to my right, stepping into our little circle and sticking his arm between us. “Let the girl head home. She’s obviously not in the mood for…” 

I don’t get to hear the rest of the sentence, the words fading as the man slips between Roy and I and I’m pulled backwards by a frantic Phil. Outside in the cold air, I feel the anxiety sweep over me and I shiver, my fingers tingling as the blood rushes from my limbs. Beside me Phil rails against Roy’s forwardness, Pris and Stella coming to wrap me up in their arms as I sink to a crouch beside the bar. 

I’m not sure how I get home after that. My memories go fuzzy with the cold and when I wake up I’m safely in my bed, alone and wrapped in a bathrobe with a bucket on the floor. The hangover burns as I reach for the glass of water and pills someone has left for me, their forethought saving my life. 

It’s the middle of the week before the girls' concern has truly solidified, their eyes trained on me as I move through Patty’s Place like a ghost. They know something is wrong but no amount of prying can break my worries from where I’ve locked them in my chest. My thoughts hold me hostage and I retreat inside myself, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop as I walk into Professor Stacy’s class two weeks after I submitted my lies as truths. 

"Anne, may I see you after class?" Professor Stacy requests, shuffling her papers as I tuck my laptop in my bag and try to swallow past the lump in my throat. I feel my cheeks heat as I glance towards the woman with trepidation.

She waves her hand as I try to escape through the back exit, urging me reluctantly forward as I try to still the nerves jangling under my skin. 

"I'd like to discuss your most recent project submission," she starts, easing onto the corner of her desk and crossing her arms over his chest. "It seemed remarkably familiar. Like perhaps I'd seen it before?"

I nod, chewing the inside of my cheek and giving away nothing. We both knew why I was here but there was no way I’d give in. I couldn't. I wouldn’t admit that two weeks ago after driving myself into the ground with willful procrastination and a mental block I’d ruined not only my friendship with Gilbert but also my chances at keeping this scholarship by cheating. 

Professor Stacy had asked for the impossible. A family tree as the first of a three part project on historical non-fiction storytelling. By the end of the semester we would have a chronicled history of our families, a perfectly reasonable assignment if you  _ knew _ where you came from. But I didn’t. All I knew was that I was unwanted, tossed away like garbage, and I couldn’t research that. It hurt too much. 

"I realize everyone has a story, Anne, and while I'd like to believe yours was similar to a classic romance novel I'm not sure your family history would be exactly the same as the Williams clan. Am I correct in that assumption?"

I twist under her gaze, my nerves rattling as I try to think of a way out. Any way that would give me a chance to explain. To make her understand why. Why I couldn't do the assignment or explore my ancestry like everyone else in the class. 

"I'm going to take your silence as a 'yes'," she sighs, standing up to her full height and moving around behind the desk as I stand frozen to my spot. Tears begin to prick at the corner of my eyes and I brush my hands over my face quickly, desperate to not show any weakness.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't.

"I'm sorry but I've got to issue you this warning letter based on instruction from the Dean's office. They've identified plagiarism in large sections of your most recent report and there's nothing I can do to intervene on your behalf," Professor Stacy states, handing me a letter with the Redmond letterhead. "While I can't do anything to prevent this warning, I can give you a second chance to complete the project if you're interested. You would have two weeks to submit a new report - an honest report - otherwise you'll fail the course. Anne, we both know how critical this class is to maintaining your scholarship - "

Her words continue on in a blur as the blood roars in my ears. Failure. Expulsion. Destitute. My one chance at getting free gone up in smoke all because I was unwanted; because my family discarded me when I was just an infant. My throat burns as tears start flowing freely, my mouth unable to produce the words I need to save myself for once. 

" - I can tell that there's obviously something in your history you're not proud of - and I understand that - but the rules require that you meet the same curriculum as your peers when a case of plagiarism is recorded."

"Professor Stacy," I croak, shaking my head as I try to stop myself from sobbing in front of her. "I can't - this isn't an assignment I can do."

"I don't believe that, Anne. You've got a remarkable mind and you'll find a way to get it done, I just know it," she adds before clapping me on the shoulder and squeezing gently.

"You don't - You don't understand," I hiss and wipe the tears from my cheeks. I needed to pull myself together before I crumbled. Now was the time to rally if I had any hope of staying in one piece. 

"I'm sure I cannot begin to comprehend," she starts softly. "But these are unfortunately the rules we must play by. You have until the 22nd - please make an effort and don't let me down. I'd hate to see my favourite mind punished over a glorified family tree."

It feels like my world is crumbling around me, the woman giving me one last look before she steps around me and through the door. I'm left standing in front of the blackboard, alone, my heart aching as I try to figure out what I'm going to do.

My family tree was complicated. I'd been in and out of foster homes since I was a baby, each one worse than the last as family after family turned me out. I'd worked hard to get where I was - out of the system and into college on my own merits - and when Professor Stacy first assigned the project I'd tried to at least figure out the bare minimum. But even that research had come at a cost, stirring up memories that collided with my nightmares and left me a walking zombie through midterms. So I'd given up and copied a family tree from my favourite story the night before the project was due, the same night I’d ruined things with Gilbert, hoping against hope that neither one would notice I was falling apart.

But they had. And now I was going to lose everything because of it.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Gilbert's soft voice breaks through my thoughts and has me looking up with surprise from where I've somehow ended up on the floor of the classroom, knees huddled against my chest. How was he here? What was he even doing trying to talk to me after I’d frozen him out of my life since that night we slept together? Was I not clear that I couldn’t be what he needed? That I wasn’t who he thought he took to bed that night? 

I shake my head in response, tucking my face against my thighs and wishing he would just leave me be. 

"Anne, come on, the next class will be arriving any minute. It's time to get up," he urges, crouching down before me. I feel his hand on my shoulder, the heat of it burning through my sweater as I try to force myself into motion. "Whatever it is, it's going to be okay. We’ll figure it out. I promise. Come on."

"I'm going to get kicked out," I whisper as I glance up at him, all red eyes and leaking face.

"I'm sure you won't. Let's go somewhere to talk," he offers. Behind us a group of students enter the room and their friendly banter quiets as they notice me sitting on the floor. 

I feel their eyes on me as I force myself up and out of the classroom, my breath heaving with the effort as I fight to remain upright. I'm halfway through the courtyard when Gilbert's hand wraps around my wrist, pulling me to a stop and swinging me around to look at him.

"What?" I bark, my hands reactively pushing against his chest to knock him out of my space. I couldn't deal with him this close, his aftershave fogging my senses like it so often did when we sat too close. “Why are you even here?” I hiss angrily, my cheeks drying despite the pain shattering within me. 

“I’m worried about you!” He counters, his hands coming up to show surrender. “I came to talk to you since you won’t return my texts or my calls or literally anything that I try to do to reach out to you. Phil says you’re dealing with something but you won’t tell them what’s up. It’s been two weeks of radio silence and if there’s anything I know for sure about you it’s that two weeks of silence is nearly impossible for you. So I figured all I had left was to show up here to talk to you and here you are on the ground in a classroom - what’s going on? You can talk to me, you know that right?” 

“It’s none of your business! How did you not get the hint? If two weeks of silence is impossible for me, don’t you think that maybe  _ that’s _ more telling than any words I could give you?” I can feel myself vibrating with everything, the adrenaline pumping in my veins and making my hands shake. My words hit their intended target and he hardens, his shoulders squaring as his arms cross over his chest. 

“It  _ is _ my business as your friend. As your mentor.” He pauses and looks away over my shoulder, taking a breath as he tries to calm his thoughts. 

“Really? A mentor who sleeps with his mentee?” I accuse evenly, the words sharp as his eyes flash back to mine. I knew it was below the belt, an unfair statement to hold against him, but it was all I had left. Vicious cuts with words were the one thing I’d always managed to wield since I learned how to speak and it was no different now. I had to push him away for good. Losing him  _ and _ Redmond at the same time would be too much. 

Thankfully, it seems to do the trick and stuns him into silence long enough to give me time to brush my hands over my face and turn on my heel, stalking away and pushing through the small crowd of students whose eyes follow me along the path. 

I take off for home and slam myself into my room, throwing my backpack against the closet door and flopping onto my bed with a strangled scream into my pillow. 


	3. The Weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Weight by The Band

A small knock on my door makes me want to curl into a ball and hide under my bed, my sorrow needing to be bled in the privacy of my room without any curious onlookers. I didn’t want to face whoever was here. If it was Gilbert… No. That was impossible. Of that I was sure. 

Phil’s hand on my shoulder is the soothing balm I don’t expect as she creeps into my space, her frame perching on the edge of the mattress before she starts rubbing my back. She doesn’t force me to speak and simply sits with me as I cry into my pillow, the energy draining from me in heavy waves until I’m left empty and still. 

“I’ve got ice cream or wine. What kind of week is it?” She asks when I’ve finally cried myself out. 

“Wine, please,” I mutter to her returning soft laugh. With a pat on my shoulder she leaves and fetches the bottle from her room along with a box of crackers and two glasses, returning to sit on the end of my bed with her legs crossed. 

“I’ve got to be honest, I was starting to get worried. I feel like you’ve been driving yourself into the ground lately but I didn’t want to say anything in case I put my foot in my mouth. But I also couldn’t just ignore you crying either because I’m not a heartless bitch. So be straight with me: Is it boy problems? Or school problems?” She asks as she refills our second glass, the first already poured down my throat as I try to stem the ache. 

“How could it be boy problems if I have no boy to cause said problems?” I mumble with my lips against the edge of the glass. I couldn’t look her in the eye. Not when I lied so blatantly to her face. 

“I just thought maybe… Oh, nevermind. School it is. What happened today? Didn’t you have Professor Stacy’s class? You like her!” 

“I do,” I pause, debating whether to tell her everything. In the year and a half since I’d known her, Phil had been nothing but kind to me, a wild exuberant woman with a heart too big to contain. She’d taken me under her wing when I lived in residence, encouraging me to join student groups with her and get involved in community life and the friendship had only grown when she was endorsed by Gilbert who worked in the youth science program with her. 

_ “And this is - “  _

_ “Phil! I didn’t realize you were involved in this?” I interrupt Gilbert, stepping around him and towards the girl who lived down the hall from me. The bright figure laughs and pulls me into her arms, tightening her grip before leaning back.  _

_ “I am! And how do you know our dear Gilly Boy?” She asks with a wink and a nudge, looking between us.  _

_ “Oh - he’s just my academic mentor person. He took pity on me locking myself away in the library for another straight week and dragged me here. I didn’t realize the school did all of this for the community,” I add as I look around the space filled with ongoing science experiments, kids running from booth to booth to explore.  _

_ “Just an academic mentor, eh? I find that hard to believe,” she whispers before looking over my shoulder. I follow her gaze to find Gilbert crouching next to a young girl, showing her how the magnet experiment works. My heart thumps in my chest as he glances towards us, his cheeks heating before he turns his attention back to the task at hand. “Maybe just for now then. But I would bet money on it, if I was a betting woman.”  _

_ "Please, he's forced to hangout with me, that's all," I counter as she sighs and pats my shoulder. _

_ "Sure, sure. And all the academic mentors at Redmond encourage their mentees to leave the library during midterms to come keep them company at a science fair. Sounds completely logical to me," she teases in return. I manage another stealthy look in his direction, finding him once more watching as the two of us link arms and head off towards the chemistry area. "Just watch, he'll wander over here soon enough with some lame excuse to get you all to himself. And I'll let him have you because the way that boy looks at you makes even my heart flip flop in my chest." _

_ He  _ had _ come over and Phil had all but thrust me towards him, our friendship solidified in one brief moment of allyship. _

She’d been there for me when I was at my worst, and cheered me on when I was at my best. I felt like she would understand, right? “I think I fucked up, Phil. I mean really, honestly, tragically fucked up,” I say as she leans in and rests her palm on my knee. 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” she assures and I shake my head, pressing the glass against my forehead as I try to breathe through the anxiety in my chest. 

“I cheated on a project for her class. She wants me to trace my family tree and use historical records to cite all of the ancestors that I have. But I was having a hard time and I just put the Williams clan from that stupid kids series and pretended it was my family. And Professor Stacy caught it and now if I don’t fix it and do my assignment I’m going to fail her class and I’ll lose my scholarship and I’ll have to leave. I can’t leave Redmond, Phil, I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I whisper my truth, closing my eyes and shaking my head as she squeezes my knee. 

“That’s mighty foolish of you, I’ll give you that. But you’re getting a second chance, why don’t you just do the assignment? It doesn’t sound that hard - “ 

“Phil, you know I don’t know any of my family. I don’t have cousins or grandparents or great aunts that show up in old records. I don’t even know if my name is actually Anne Shirley or if that’s just the name the system gave me - how am I supposed to start this project if I don’t know who I am? How am I supposed to be  _ me _ if I don’t even know my own origin story?” 

Phil doesn’t hesitate to set her glass on the floor and lurch towards me, wrapping me up in her arms as she gives me a hug that makes it hard to breathe. I’m slow to give in but when I do it feels ten times better to hug her back, my body finally relaxing from the tension I’ve carried with me all this time. 

“You are Anne Shirley of Halifax. You have made a family here of your choosing. You’ve got me and the girls, you’ve got the Lacroix’s, and I’d even argue you have Gilbert too, though I know you’ll deny it with every bone in your body. You know who you are now, but I think you need to take some time and go figure this stuff out, not just for this class but for yourself,” she suggests as she pulls back and picks up her glass once again. She pours out the rest of the bottle between our two cups and we nibble on the spread of crackers as I think about my options. 

I couldn’t argue with her. Though I didn’t quite have the normal nuclear family that everyone else had, the people I’d surrounded myself with here in this small city had become close enough to be considered something akin to a mismatched family. With the exception of Gilbert. Which I didn’t want to think about how I’d ruined that possibility. 

Phil was right. I really had no choice but to either give up - pack up and leave school - or try to track down my family line. Both seemed painful, impossible even, but they were the choices I had. Only one, though, would give me some semblance of closure on what I’d struggled with all these years. 

I had to find out my history. 

* * *

Waking up the next morning is only slightly less painful than the brutal wakeups I’ve had for the last few weeks, the alcohol still a haunting remnant in my veins as I twist and look out my bedroom window. The world outside seems wide and full of possibilities, like a painting that’s only half-finished in the changing season. Maybe I was like that too, caught between the past and present and the things that lay before me. 

Phil had left sometime after I’d let myself finally fall asleep, tidying up around my bed before escaping back to her own room in the early evening. She’d kept me company as I jotted down options into a notebook, the old list-making process soothing my rough nerves alongside the liquour and the kind way she’d suggested new avenues I hadn’t yet thought about. She’d been a friend, understanding and loving, and I hadn’t realized how much I had needed that to break through my own walls. 

My phone ringing pulls me out of my own thoughts and reluctantly I crawl out from under my blankets, reaching for the device on the edge of my bedside table and answering the call.

“Queen Anne! Finally!” Bash Lacroix’s voice greets me through the line, ever jovial and bright as I try not to shrink in shame for ghosting them these past two weeks. 

“Hey Bash,” I reply softly, hesitant. 

“Hey Bash? Really? That’s all I get for reaching you in the afterlife? You’d think I’d get a hero’s welcome, a hallelujah to the - “ 

“Anne - we’re not letting you cancel again tonight. We’ll see you at six, right?” Mary Lacroix breaks in, the murmured exclamations on the other end of the line making me smile. I could just picture it now, Mary wrestling the phone out of her husband’s grip as he got sidetracked from the task at hand. 

“I guess I have no reason to say no,” I answer. I knew full and well that they would never have let me skip another dinner, not after the non-reasons I’d given them the weeks prior gave them nothing to go on. We had an established pattern and if I broke it they were sure to know something was up and if I didn’t go for this week’s dinner, they would most definitely be on the doorstep of Patty’s Place within the hour. That’s just the kind of people they were. 

Hanging up after a few more pleasantries, I crawl to the edge of the bed and slip out of the safety of my sheets to get dressed. It takes me longer than usual to pull myself together in my bedroom mirror, my fingers pinching my cheeks to give them a touch more colour before I pull my mane of hair back into a braid. I look like I’ve aged fifty years, if I’m being honest. There’s bags under my eyes and dark circles that make me look like a zombie, the miserable state I’d been in finally starting to show. 

I spend the afternoon reading up on how to access my records, frustrated and anxious as I comb through the myriad of instructions before finally giving up to head to the Lacroix’s for dinner. 

“Oh you are a sight for sore eyes!” Bash greets as he pulls open the front door to the little house, his arms wide as I step into them easily. Behind him Mary comes down the hall, wiping her hands on her pants before pulling me from her husband’s embrace into her own. I go easily, relishing in the familiar feeling of contentedness they seemed to bestow on visitors like a welcoming gift. 

The Lacroix’s had been a just-in-time placement for me before I aged out of the system, a safe place for me to sleep in between foster homes as the system bumped me from place to place. They’d offered a comfortable bed and friendship for a wayward girl who had too much of an attitude to make it last anywhere else and that kindness had enticed me into staying in contact with them. They hadn’t left me out to hang like so many other homes I’d resided in and I now looked to them for how to be an adult, their compassion and stability helping me create my drive to be a better person. Now they had me over for weekly dinners, little check-ins to make sure I was adjusting to life at school even though I was halfway through my second year. 

It was a liferaft and I regretted skipping it when things were hardest. I shouldn’t have avoided them, not when the sight of them gave me such reprieve from my thoughts. 

“I’m so glad to see you guys,” I mutter as we settle at the table, the simple dinner far superior to any food I could muster up myself back at the house. I let myself get lost in the easy conversation as Bash’s Caribbean accent lilts and lifts my spirits as he talks about his work at Johnson's farm, the animals he cares for and how he would do it all differently if he had his own land for once. We laugh and joke, my spirit feeling lighter with every minute that passes. It’s only after when I’m in the kitchen helping Mary with dessert that my mind returns to the worry and the quiet becomes suffocating. She must sense it on me like an odor, her hand clasping my shoulder and squeezing as I lean back against the counter. 

“You look particularly rough around the edges today,” she murmurs as she presses her hip against the oven to look at me. 

“It’s nothing,” I lie, rolling my eyes and chewing the inside of my cheek. I couldn’t tell her, could I? I couldn’t let her know what I’d done. She’d lose trust in me. She’d stop believing in me. Dinners would be cancelled. The pretense of friendship would be dropped. 

“Anne, come on. Don’t give me that. Not after everything we’ve been through,” Mary urges and grabs my hand in hers. I remember then the way she’d held my hand in the waiting room of the clinic, how she’d sat with me as I waited to find out the results of my medical tests after a home I was placed in turned bad. She hadn’t judged me then and in the scale of things this barely held a candle. 

_ “Miss Shirley?” The nurse calls into the waiting room, my head resting in my hands as my foot taps anxiously against the tile floor.  _

_ “That’s you, Anne,” Mary whispers beside me, rubbing her hand against my back in comforting circles. “Do you want me to come in with you?” She asks as I reluctantly get to my feet.  _

_ “You’d do that?” I reply, shocked as she joins me and wraps her hand around my fist.  _

_ Inside the small room at the back of the building I sit anxiously on the paper-covered bed, my gaze trained on the floor as the door opens and a pair of women’s shoes enter the space.  _

_ “Miss Shirley?” The doctor greets and I look up, watching as she takes a seat on the stool across from me.  _

_ “I really can’t take bad news right now,” I breathe, hot tears burning my eyes as I try to steel myself for whatever she has to tell me.  _

_ “Oh, dear, no,” she pauses and rolls closer, resting her hand on mine and giving it a squeeze before opening my file in her lap. “All of your tests came back negative. The morning after pill seemed to do the trick and thankfully there were no traces of any communicable diseases. I’d still like to have you back in six months just to confirm nothing has shown up since then but for now, you’re okay.”  _

_ “So there’s - I’m not - “  _

_ “No. There’s nothing in your physical health that gives me any concern, at this time. It’s good news, Anne,” she adds softly and I hear Mary exhale a held breath, her arms surrounding me as I release my own shaking breath in chorus. The tears come then, blinding as I let the turmoil of the last few weeks roll out of me in heavy gasps, my shoulders shaking as the door to the room clicks and I’m left with Mary to hold me as I cry for the first time in so long.  _

The memory flashes and I'm struck by a wave of relief, my trust in Mary far outweighing my ability to keep these things inside for a moment longer.

“I cheated on one of my projects at school. I plagiarised a family tree and made up my sources and the school is really hard on people who cheat, especially if they're on scholarship like me, so I’m definitely going to get thrown out of Redmond because the only other option I have is doing the assignment in the next two weeks but it seems so impossible right now… And that's not even the worst part because I also was a million times stupid after giving up and I somehow managed to sleep with Gilbert even though I shouldn’t have done that because now everything's ruined and it’s just - I feel like I’m spinning out of control and I have no idea how to stop or find the right way out or do anything right - “ 

“Woah, slow down and take a breath,” she interjects, grabbing my hand and taking me out into the living room. Bash looks up and sees the tears I’d let escape, his brow tightening for a moment before he gets angrily to his feet. 

“Who did this to you?” He growls, his hands resting on his hips as he readies for war. I could almost laugh as I realize it was  _ me _ ,  _ I  _ did this to myself. Only me. 

“Why don’t you go make sure the cake doesn’t burn? In the kitchen?” Mary breaks in, nodding her head towards the other room quickly as Bash reads between the lines and his brows rise in understanding. 

“Oh, okay,” he complies, stepping past me but not before his hand lights on my shoulder, squeezing tightly before he disappears out of the room. 

Mary settles us both on the couch and waits for me to start talking, her method of using silence against me always tricking me into speaking first. It had worked the first time I'd been dropped on her doorstep, all skin and bones and hot under the collar, and she'd been using the tactic ever since.

“What do you want me to address first from that word stew I've just dropped at your feet?” I mutter, rubbing my eyes before looking over at her with a wary shake of my head.

“How about we start with the easiest part,” she offers cryptically. I have to pause and try to dissect what part of the mess would be simplest to unpack, my thoughts twisting under pressure and causing me to groan inwardly. 

“Professor Stacy has given me two weeks to make-up the assignment but I have no idea how to even start,” I whisper, easily determining that school work would be less complicated than digging through my feelings for Gilbert and the hurt I’d knowingly stewed myself in. 

“Have you told her about your history? Why you cheated?” I shake my head and twist my fingers together. 

“The student handbook is pretty detailed when it comes to plagiarism so even if I gave her the details she couldn’t do anything. She said her hands were tied by the Dean’s office so it’s basically my only option to do the assignment. It’s just, Mary I have no idea how to even start. How do I even trace back my placements? How do I find someone who wanted to forget me?” I pause and blink to stem further tears. I had to hold it together if I ever wanted to rebuild my sanity at some point. “What if when I go back in the records I find something I can’t come back from? What if I find nothing at all and I realize I was so unwanted I don’t even have a family tree to trace?“ 

“Then you become the root of a new tree,” she answers so simply, her lips in an understanding smile as close my eyes and shake my head. 

“Why can’t it just be simple?” I murmur in exasperation, rubbing my hands over my face. 

“When you don’t know your family history it’s a whole new mountain to climb,” she adds knowingly. “But I know you and I know that this is something you can do. I can even help - I’ll help you pull your records and you can decide what to do from there.” 

“I don’t - I don’t want to be that annoying girl - ”

“You are so far from being that girl, come on now,” she interjects and pulls my hands from my face. “The project seems like the easy part here and we’ll get it started tomorrow. I’ll have your caseworker send me your files and we can figure it out from there, okay?” She pauses as I nod, shifting under her gaze. “Why don’t you get to the harder issue?” 

_ Gilbert _ . 

I'd mentioned him a handful of times at dinner already, each time receiving more progressive teasing from the pair as the only boy I ever brought up to them, but that was before I'd gone and messed it all up. Now it hurt to picture him, to imagine him sitting across the table from Bash like I'd figured would happen eventually if our friendship grew further. The dream was snuffed out by one questionable decision, its defeat apparent in the drop of my shoulders.

“I don’t even know what to tell you about what I was thinking that night,” I whisper, shifting uncomfortably in my own skin as she uses her silence on me again. 

“Why don’t we start with how you went from procrastinating on not finishing this project to ending up with him?” 

“It was completely coincidental - “ 

“Anne,” she chides, pressing her palm to her forehead and trying to call my bluff. 

“I swear! I went out to get drunk. Really, just to drink. And he just - he happened to show up at the bar and somehow we got to talking and then I walked him home and I was going to leave but then I didn’t and we had another drink and - “ 

“Apart from the worry you inspire in me when you tell me you decided to just get drunk instead of facing your problems, I need to know before you continue, was what happened to you that night - were you aware of what was happening? I mean to ask, did he take advantage of you?” She asks sharply, leaning towards me and grabbing my hand so I can't move away. I recognize the look in her eyes, the subtle fear hidden underneath a steadfast concern.  _ Was this like before? _ She was asking. Like the time before the clinic.

“God, Mary, no. No - he wouldn’t - Gilbert isn’t like that. He even - he even asked me if I was sure I wanted to even though we'd had a few drinks. I remember all of it and it wasn’t like - it wasn’t like that other time. I promise, Mary. I promise you it wasn’t like that with him.” My voice cracks with the hurt that comes with my truth, with the memory of the way he’d been so careful with me, like he’d known I was a wreck, or that I’d had this hurt before and he needed to be better because the risk for toppling everything was higher with me. 

But I’d messed it all up by being so cold. By trying to keep a distance between us.

"I'm glad it was consensual, at least. That takes out a lot of my worries, just so you know. But I'm pretty sure that question isn't what has you so tangled up inside, is it?" She presses, watching carefully as I shake my head.

"We aren't… Gilbert and I are just friends. And this whole night was out of the blue and random and, well, I sort of left it in a weird place," I admit and hide my face in the back of the sofa. "I just abandoned him in the middle of the night. I didn't say goodbye or thanks or anything I just ran out of his apartment. Literally pulled on my pants and shirt in the hallway before I ran out of his damn building and to make it worse he found me after I spoke with Professor Stacy and I just - I  _ lost  _ it on him. I accused him of breaking the ethics of our mentorship and we both know that hasn’t been what we are for months now and it was cruel of me to say what I did but I have no idea how I’m supposed to fix it now."

"Hmm," Mary hums, her gaze evaluating me as I try to steady myself. "If he was here right now what would you tell him?" I still at the question, pressing my fingers to my lips as I remember the taste of him and how it had felt with his lips against my neck. I want him back in my life, friendship and all of the complicated bits. I  _ miss _ him but I can’t drag him back into this with me. 

"That I'm sorry I'm not enough for what he wants or needs." The honesty of it pains me to admit, fresh tears escaping the corners of my eyes as I realize just how self-destructive that thought is. I was my own worst enemy, all of my scars self-induced.

"Come here," Mary instructs, lurching forward and wrapping her arms around my shoulders as I try to breathe through the pain. "You are more than enough, Anne Shirley. You hear me? You are smart, resilient and beautiful. Don't convince yourself you're anything less than deserving of everything this world has to offer, okay?"

"Why do I feel like this all the time?" I whimper into her shoulder, trying to draw strength from her certainty of my worth.

"I can't answer that for you but I'm starting to think you need to do this project. I think you need to access your records and trace where you come from so you don't have these self-doubting questions anymore and you can build on who you are now. This project might be a blessing in disguise."

"I don't know if I believe that," I admit weakly as I draw myself back, wiping my eyes with frustration. 

"Sure you do. You’ve been here before, remember? That first time you came here and you had just been pulled from that house down the coast who was moving. You were spinning out of control then and you were so out of sorts but you figured it out. You found your way back to yourself." I nod and force myself to sit up straight as she brushes her own tears from her cheeks. 

"Do you think the cake is ready? Now that I've gone and cried all of my energy out I could really use some sugar," I ask with a pathetic laugh, my voice nasally from the tears. 

"Did you say cake, dear Anne?" Bash announces brightly, stepping into the room with an icing sugar topped tray of angel food cake. 

"I didn't even hear the buzzer!" Mary crows excitedly and gets to her feet, pulling my hand to drag me up from the couch until we're all settled once more at the dining room table to spend the rest of the evening in contented company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, if you want links to the songs inspiring this mess of words, you can find the playlist here:   
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6d7rLpwi8Nc57WiZoDfsFx?si=NZhfOYFvQKS0vZfxEBDdlg 
> 
> Thank you all again for being lovely humans!


	4. Sleeping Sickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping Sickness - City and Colour

The walk home from the Lacroix’s is cool, my coat barely cutting through the chill as I cut through campus back towards Patty’s Place. In an effort to make it back alive I detour through the student centre, stopping at the cafe as I’m drawn in by the warm smell of coffee and the toe-curling thought of tea to keep my fingers warm for the rest of the way. 

“A London Fog, please,” I ask the cashier, tapping my card on the machine before turning and rubbing my hands together to wait for the beverage. I scan the crowd of students, all with their heads down as they look at their laptops or have their eyes trained on their textbooks as they make notes in the margins. The place is filled with bodies focused on getting through the rest of the semester, the way I needed to be if I were going to be able to pull off this assignment. 

It was time to buckle down. I’d have to in order to meet the deadline and still complete the other two parts of the project for Stacy’s class. I didn’t have time to keep messing around. I didn’t have time for - 

“Gilbert,” I breathe as my eyes fall on his mop of curls, his arms reaching over his head as he stretches in his chair near the window. 

“London Fog?” The barista calls again and I turn my distracted self back to collect it from her, an apologetic smile on my face as I pull the drink towards me. When I move to leave, I can’t help but pause and look once more towards Gilbert, my heart thumping in my chest. 

I had to make amends. I had to try to salvage what we had been building because if I didn’t then getting through this - getting through my time at Redmond - would be near impossible. I needed him in my life like I needed… 

“Hi,” I squeak as I approach his table, easing myself into the chair across from him uninvited as he looks up at me with puzzled surprise. 

“Hey,” he counters slowly, tilting his laptop closed and grabbing his coffee mug from the table to take a sip. I swallow thickly, nerves rippling under my skin as I try to steady myself. “How are you?” 

“I’m so sorry I was garbage to you,” I gasp and clutch my hands around my drink, my gaze turned towards the table as I force myself to breathe. “I ghosted you. And I insinuated that you took advantage of me and that was wrong and I shouldn’t have done that. So I’m sorry for that. I just - I needed to tell you that.” 

“Oh,” he pauses. I can feel him sit up in his chair, his hand shaking slightly as he sets the mug back on the table and let’s his hand fall open. I can’t help but stare at the lifeline on his palm, the distinct fold chasing across his hand as his fingers flex and tighten. “Thank you for saying that, even though you’ve never been garbage in your life. You didn’t need to apologize but I appreciate it.” 

“Funny of you to pretend I'm not a constant mess. But that's not the point. I did need to say something because - well, I don’t want you to go anywhere. I’ve come to the startling conclusion as of late that maybe I can’t do this without you,” I add hastily and before my mouth can spill anymore words I take a sip of the burning liquid in my cup, desperate to stop rambling. 

“Is that so?” He counters softly. When I glance back up at him it’s to find his eyes trained on me, their hazel colour shifting in the low light of the cafe. For the first time I take notice of his own bags under his eyes, the scruff that is a little more than just a five o’clock shadow, and I can’t help but wonder what it is that has him kept up at night like me. 

“It is. I realize you’ve been a pretty strong voice of reason and I need that kind of friend right now,” I pause and shift under his stare, unsure if I should lean into this honesty that wants to pour from me. 

“Is that - I mean, are we just friends then?” He steadies his voice as he asks, his stoicism making me want to reach across the table and pull at his lapels until he gives in to the words I know he’s holding back. The same ones that were echoing like a ricochet in my chest. 

_ No. We’re so much more than that _ . 

“It’s what I can offer right now. That night… It shouldn’t have happened like that. I’m sorry it’s not more,” I whisper in return, my own thoughts spinning. I didn’t want him to be my friend. I didn’t want him to be an acquaintance or my mentor. I wanted all of him for myself but I couldn’t strap him onto the wildhorse that I was riding or we’d both be bucked off at the end. 

“Okay. I can be okay with that,” he replies. I feel him more than see him lean forward, his hand grasping mine in a tight squeeze that he holds for a moment before letting go just as quickly. “Were you heading home? Did you want some company? I promise just for the walk, I just need to get away from this computer screen for a bit.”

“Yes. I would like that very much,” I answer and slowly get to my feet as he begins to pack up his things. 

We head back out into the cold and the conversation eases my mind, the simple discussion focusing on what Gilbert’s been doing the last two weeks, his light mood amusing me with his schooling antics. I’m thankful then he doesn’t want to focus on where I’d been, why I’d been so silent. When we round into my neighbourhood he slows and I can feel his eyes drop to look at me, his hand shifting his bag on his shoulder. 

“You know you can talk to me about what’s going on, right?” He says eventually, causing me to chew my lip. “I won’t judge you.” 

“I feel like I know that. Like, deep down under a pile of rubble. It’s just - it’s so stupid. You’ll be disappointed more than anything.” 

“Maybe, maybe not. I'm not in a place to pass judgement on anyone, let alone you. Besides, we’ve all fucked up at one point or another,” he adds with a shrug. 

“Not like this,” I pause, wondering how best to put my current state of mind. “Have you heard that song, ‘Sleeping Sickness’?” I ask to his returning nod. “It's basically like a narration of my life right now. You know the line that’s about constantly changing from calm to ill? That’s me. I’m all over the place. I’m not sleeping and I’m unsteady with everything going on and it’s all because of this stupid assignment that I had. I couldn’t focus on it to get it done - I didn’t want to even think about it really, so I cheated on it like an idiot.” I stop and look up at him, waiting for the disappointment to fill his features as I make my admission. But it doesn’t. All that happens is his expression softens and he exhales a breath of fog. “You don’t look surprised that I would do something like that.”

“Oh, believe me I was when the coordinator told me,” he replies and watches as the shock blossoms in me. “I went in to resign as your mentor after yesterday because you were right about it being inappropriate for me to advise you after what we’d done that night. Jackie pulled me aside while I was there and let me know - apparently it’s standard practice to inform the support team of a student’s breach - “ 

“So you knew I plagiarized?” He nods and I release the breath I’d been holding, shifting uncomfortably on my feet. “I didn’t want to cheat, you have to know that. But I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“I know.” 

“I had to put something down on paper because I couldn’t tell Professor Stacy about everything that brought me here. I didn’t want her to pity me or give me any exceptions because she felt sorry for me. There was no way I could have dealt with that on top of everything else so I just… I lied. And to make it worse I really didn’t mean to find you that night. It just was like a perfect storm of everything all at once - “ 

“Anne, come on, you really think I’m not partially responsible for what happened that night? That maybe I wasn’t trying to lose myself in something safe too?” He returns and rubs at his jaw. "I didn't go looking for you either but I won't lie and say I wasn't happy to run into you. I'm always happy when I run into you, even if it’s not the best decision."

"Oh," I add when he starts walking again, my thoughts racing to catch up.

"Yeah. So - why don't you tell me why you cheated?"

"I don't know if we have enough of a walk left - "

"Try me. Let me in," he urges and the need to tell the truth washes over me like a wave, his ernest expression making my heart flop clumsily in my chest.

I tell him everything. About the project and the fear I'd been hiding behind since it was first assigned. He listens and hums his acknowledgements, slowing his pace to match mine as we round onto my street. By the time I reach the end of my story we're settled on the curb out front of Patty’s Place, our elbows touching as I rest my head in my hands. 

"And now I have to try to dig it all up and put it onto paper. All of it. Every miserable placement and angry person who has ever taken me in. I have to relive the worst years of my life for something I would never want to read myself all because I have no idea what my family tree actually looks like,” I mumble, trying to keep the exhausted tears at bay as his hand comes to rest on my shoulder. 

“I know it’s going to be hard but you’re not going to be doing this alone, you know that right?” He murmurs as he leans in towards me. I feel his heat brush up against me and all I want is to crawl into his lap, to have his arms wrap around me and keep the world at bay. It’s not enough to just sit with him but I know I can’t give in. Not now. 

“What if I find out something that is worse than anything I’ve imagined? What if I find them still alive and living happily ever after without me?” I whisper and set my deepest fear loose in the world. 

“If that happens, which I’m sure it won’t, you’ll still have all of us to come back to. Finding out your past will not change your present.” 

“But what if it changes  _ me _ ?” 

“Then it changes you. It doesn’t change how the rest of us feel about you though, okay?” I nod at his reassurance because it’s really all I can do as I fight my internal demons. 

“I should probably let you go and head inside,” I announce after a while, rubbing my hands across my face and then moving to stand as Gilbert joins me. We stand awkwardly on the edge of the road for a few moments, my gaze trained off towards the neighbours house as we both try to figure out what happens next. 

“Will you reach out, if you need help?” He asks after a moment, drawing my attention back to his face where I see his expression lined with worry. 

“Gil,” I sigh, shaking my head slightly as I look towards my feet. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t try to push me away, not when I’m ready to jump in the shit with you. Let me help,” he urges and lifts his fingers to my chin, gently drawing my sight back up to him. I can’t stop myself from lifting my own hand to cover the back of his, nuzzling into his palm before stepping away from him and exhaling to clear my thoughts. 

“Oh would you two just kiss or get off the pot already! We’re dying in here!” Phil’s voice echoes out from behind me and I feel the blood rush from my face, my heart starting to race as I inwardly groan and look at the pavement. Had they been watching the  _ whole time _ ? 

“Come on!” Gilbert calls back before sighing, moving his feet out of my line of sight. “Call me, okay? That’s all I ask. I just need to know you’re doing okay,” he says and pulls the strap of the bag down across his chest. 

“I’ll try, I promise,” I murmur, giving in and feeling a burst of relief shock through me at the idea of knowing I wasn’t alone. Gilbert seems to feel it too because a lightness fills his expression as he turns and walks away, leaving me standing on the side of the road as he disappears into the darkness. 

The girls surround me as I step through the front door, their eyes alight with questions as I try to hang up my coat. I do my best to placate them, steering us all towards the living room where they settle into their reserved chairs and watch me process the last hour of my life in real time. 

“Were you lying the other night? Was it an ice cream night instead?” Phil asks as the room quiets, her brow raised. 

“It was… A clusterfuck of a night, if I’m being honest. But I think I’ve got a plan to figure it all out.” 

“Does this mean your finger is finally off the self-destruct button?” Stella questions pointedly. Her gaze holds steady as I look to her with surprise, not realizing that she’d noticed how close I was to teetering over the edge. 

“I don’t...” I breathe in reply, unsure how to word my response. 

“We all saw it, Anne. We’ve been fucking worried,” she continues and though her tone isn’t harsh, I know she’s trying to speak the truth and get everything out into the open for once. “Tell us how to help you because I know I don’t personally want to be watching you run yourself any further into the ground.” 

“I didn’t realize anyone else noticed,” I lie, because how could I not notice the way they tip-toed around me? 

“ _ Anne _ ,” Pris groans and gets to her feet, her hands landing forcefully on her hips.

“Okay - okay. I’m sorry! I'm going to try to pull it together!" I groan and cover my face, desperate to keep the wolves at bay. 

"Less drinking?" Pris insists, stepping towards me. 

"And less hiding out in your room?" Stella adds before joining her. Behind them Phil chews on her thumb, watching me as I twist under their insistence. It felt quite literally like they were trying to kill me with their kindness. 

"I'll try. It's just been really hard trying to figure this all out on my own…"

"Well you're not on your own anymore, are you?" Phil says softly, stepping around the pair and grabbing my hand. She reaches back and links her fingers with Stella, who in turn reaches for Pris. We stand connected, hands entwined as I look between my three housemates with affection.

They were my family. They'd taken me in, cared for me when I was at my worst. These girls were my sisters and they stood alongside me through thick and thin.

"No. I'm not alone anymore," I admit and it's enough to draw them to me, to wrap each other up in a hug that makes me feel warm and loved. 

Not a day ago I'd been convinced I had nothing, that I belonged nowhere. I'd been jamming myself into a void of loneliness because I couldn't see what was around me. But Mary and Bash had torn away the first layer, exposing my heart to the possibilities that lay before me. Gilbert had pulled me into the light, showing me the steadiness and forgiveness that existed in the world. And these girls - these wonderful girls - had loved me when I didn't even love myself.

I had to figure out who I was not just for me, but for all of them too. My family wasn't just my past - it was the future I would build for myself. I just had to figure out the details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, I'm not one to get upset over cancellations of TV shows because it usually seems like the best decision for my health, but this damn cancellation of AWAE has me sobbing. This show has been a balm to me, a comforting reminder of the things I hold dearest in this world - family, friendship, love and hope. When I am sent to places on this planet where it seems all hope is lost, I take AnnE with me because it reminds me of how things can be if we all just cared a little bit more. 
> 
> I am hoping against hope that it's not cancelled, not truly, but if it is I want you all to know that just because it's gone doesn't mean the ideas behind it are.


	5. Having You Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having You Around - July Talk

Mary arrives the next day bright and early, standing in the foyer of Patty’s Place with her hands wrapped around a large bound file. My chest hurts with the breath I’m holding as I move down the stairs, watching her with trepidation as she smiles up at me. 

“Did you want to do this here?” She asks pointedly, looking around the empty house and motioning towards the kitchen. 

“I mean - I didn’t expect you to get it so fast,” I state, reaching for the file and frowning when she pulls it back.

“Nuh uh, we’re going through this together,” she insists. I feel a spark of relief light in me at the thought of having someone beside me when I first opened the thick stack of paper. Silently, I nod my head towards the kitchen and try to keep it together as we head down the hall. My heart is in my throat, thumping heavily, when we settle into the chairs at the dining table. 

“I called in a few favours because I know you’re on a deadline. This is everything they’ve got on you locally. Some of the case notes from when you were in Annapolis Valley are still held at the branch there but they’re sending them through later this week,” she adds thoughtfully. I can feel her eyes trained on me, intent and watchful as I swallow the memory of the home I’d been in there. 

_ “She can’t stay here anymore, we don’t deal with runaways,” Mrs Hammond states sharply as my case worker stands in the hallway. I watch from the staircase, my chin in my palms. I hadn’t run away. I’d just opted not to come home by curfew because I’d rather hangout among the trees than come mop another already spotless floor.  _

_ “Mrs Hammond, surely you can understand that putting Anne out for a situation that wasn’t elevated - “  _

_ “I know full and well what we can and can’t do, Alice. She’s not capable of following the rules and we won’t have her influencing the young ones with her disobedience,” Mrs Hammond continues.  _

_ We both knew she didn’t want me. She hadn’t since the day she found out she was pregnant with a set of twins and since that point on she’d been desperate to find ways to have me resettled, her own kin taking precedence. That, and the fact that she could get a better payout with claiming her own children through the system than if she had to house strangers. The system was truly fucked up.  _

_ “Alright. Well, we’ll have to note this on your file then,” Alice threatens evenly, one last ditch attempt to keep me in a home I’d been in for less than a year.  _

_ “Fine with me. I’m sick of this up and down racket anyways,” Mrs Hammond replies and then turns to look at me, her gaze sharp. “Go get your things and don’t let me catch you stealing anything - I’m checking before you leave.”  _

The tension from the memory tightens my shoulders and I have to cross my arms over my chest to relieve the ache that blossoms within me. Annapolis Valley would hold no good memories for me and I didn’t want that file to ever arrive. 

“Do you want to go get your computer so you can start taking notes?” Mary suggests. I look at her with wide eyes, too anxious to do anything other than sit here. “No? That’s okay too. Do you want to start with the most recent stuff or go from the earliest to now?” I shake my head with another non-answer and Mary softens, her arm wrapping around my shoulders as I try to force myself not to cry. 

I could do this, right? I could face whatever was in this folder and I could rehash it all to Professor Stacy. I could. I had to. 

“Let’s start with the most recent,” I murmur when my heartbeat has settled and the sting of tears has abated. 

Mary nods and opens the file to the middle. Inside are two thick stacks of paper, divided between the decades from before I was ten to before I was twenty. We start with the teen years and the last group home I’d lived in, the one that was only across town. The report is vague, providing dates of intake and monthly updates. 

I remembered this home for being unmemorable, the walls like a hospital with their stark white paint and their cleanliness. It hadn’t had any semblance of homeiness and maybe that had been better. I’d been anxious to get out of it, had eagerly waited for my university applications to come back every day for two months. The other girls had been fine, quiet, and the house mother had been silent enough. She’d kept out of our business as long as we kept ourselves out of trouble. 

“Anne is a well-behaved youth who oftentimes daydreams too much. I would recommend a transition program for her during her first year as her past incidents may be indicative of an aversion to stability,” Mary reads aloud, watching my face for any hints of change. I glance at her and shrug, silent as she continues. “She has adapted well to an independent lifestyle and has made excellent academic strides in recent months. She has the potential to excel with little oversight and should be granted the society’s financial support for academic pursuits.” 

“Alice said all that?” I ask when Mary turns the page, finishing the letter. 

“That wasn’t Alice. It was Josphine Barry who ran the group home.” 

“Jo? But she barely interacted with any of us…” 

“Perhaps she interacted more than you realized,” she adds softly and turns her attention back to the pages. 

We work through the first section of the file, reviewing the placement orders and the requests for assessment. When we get close to the end of the first section I breathe a sigh of relief, hoping against hope that the rest of the file will be as sparse as my teenage years. 

I’m wrong though. 

The mood changes in the room when Mary starts reading through the notes of my late childhood and her lips turn down into a frown. Three of the pages she reviews look to be hospital record references with placement orders dated every few months, a world of memories drawn forward from the depths of my mind as she turns to look at me with an unbound hurt in her eyes. 

“Do you want to keep going?” She asks, gentle but I can hear the shaky lilt in her voice. I have to swallow my fears before I can respond, shifting uneasily on my chair. 

“Yes,” I nod and pull the file closer. 

I remember this time like it was happening right now, the belt strap against my back and the twist of a palm around my wrist. My gym teacher had called it in, holding me in the office as the other foster kids from the home waited in the teachers lounge. 

_ “Anne, will you tell us who did this to your arm?” The Police Officer asks, kneeling beside my chair as I keep my eyes closed and shake my head. I wasn’t going to say a thing. Saying something would make it worse.  _

_ “Ms Wilson, you say you noticed the marks today? Has she ever come in with anything else that has given you concern?”  _

_ “No - I mean, sometimes kids from that home come in a little less rested than the others, or with snacks for lunch, but nothing so bad as this,” Ms Wilson confirms and I watch as she twists her hands together, her stress filling the room like a balloon.  _

_ “Anne, we need to ensure that you and the other kids in the home are safe. When did you get these bruises?” I swallow and hide my face in my hands, trying to keep it together.  _

_ “Yesterday. I spilled a can of paint and Marshall didn’t like it,” I croak because the alternative was to sit here under their poking and prodding for another few hours.  _

_ “And did Marshall get angry at anyone else yesterday? Does he get angry a lot?” The Officer continues, jotting notes in her little book. I wanted out of this. I wanted to crawl under a rock and never return.  _

_ “He’s angry all the time but he only ever hurts me,” I whimper and the tears burst from me, silent but flowing down my cheeks. Beside me Ms Wilson tucks a tissue in my hand and tries to sit still enough to disappear.  _

“We can move on to the next part,” I murmur, flipping forcefully through the pages until we get to the next stable house. 

I’d lasted for five years in Lunenburg, the beautiful coastal village having been a happy memory for me. The family had been big - mixed, vibrant and full of love and when my foster dad had accepted a position to relocate to Alberta they’d initially planned to take me along. But something hadn’t worked. They couldn’t get the license or they couldn’t figure out how to take me along and so I wasn’t allowed to go. 

My eight-year old heart had broken, just like my heart was breaking now, at the memory of the Brown’s. They’d loved me but still they’d left me behind. Abandoned. Unwanted. 

Tears fall quickly now as I push through the final few placements. Two more since the day I was surrendered. Two more intermittent homes that I don’t remember apart from the abandonment I felt every time I was moved from one place to the next. The hurt in my chest feels like I’m going to crack open, like there’s a burning inside of my lungs that’s creating a cavern that will swallow me whole. 

I close the file and get to my feet, walking towards the porch and stepping out into the yard so I can finally catch my breath. Mary doesn’t follow and I’m thankful for that, her understanding of my need for space giving me a moment to myself. 

It hadn’t been a long history but it had been hard enough to force me to become who I was today. I’d lived through so many places. So many families who had taken me in and housed me until the next one came along. Nobody had wanted to keep the redhead who talked too much, who rebelled against what their expectations were. I learned to talk less and to keep things inside. I tucked away my needs until they became so overwhelming that only spilling myself onto the ground like a wild thing would give me any sense of relief. 

“But you’re here now,” I whisper to myself as I watch the sun rise higher over the trees. The cold air finally gets to me and I return inside, gaze lighting on Mary as she watches me with concern in her eyes. “Does it say who my parents are?” I ask, knowing I had to confront it all today or I’d be too scared to ever relive any of the file again. 

“Yes,” she pauses and looks down towards the paper. “Do you want me to read it to you?” I nod and wrap my arms over my chest, leaning into the corner near the porch door and as far away from the papers as I can get. “ _ Anne Shirley was surrendered to the Child Welfare Service in Bolingbroke, Nova Scotia, through the Aberdeen Regional Hospital. This surrender happened after the confirmed death of Walter Shirley (father) which was preceded by the death of Bertha Shirley (mother) due to an unexpected acute illness. No regional family have been presented or determined at the time of surrender. Extended family search is ongoing but initial reports indicate no additional family remains available for intake.” _

I feel my heart crack in two, little spears of it ricocheting inside my body and making me weak. Forcing my knees to lock, I press my hands to my face and try to make my lungs work. They’d both died. I had parents but both of them were gone leaving me alone. 

“Anne, come on hun,” Mary whispers as her hands squeeze my shoulders and rub my back. “Come on - let’s get you into the living room, okay?” She grabs at my forearms and helps me move my feet, my body like a walking zombie as she deposits me on the couch and escapes back towards the kitchen. 

I’m numb as she brings me back a cup of tea, settling onto the cushion beside me as her hand links with mine. 

“I’m really called Anne Shirley,” I whisper after a long while, my voice raspy. 

“You are.” 

“They didn’t abandon me either, not on purpose at least,” I continue and look up from where my gaze has focused on my toes. Mary smiles and gives a brief nod, her hand wrapping tightly around mine. 

“They didn’t. You were wanted. You  _ are _ wanted,” she adds before pulling me into her chest. 

We sit there together in silence, processing the information one piece at a time. Occasionally I’ll repeat some of it, Mary affirming or correcting as we go. Eventually I start tracing out the basics that I know - an outline of a tree slowly coming together. It looked more like a bush, wide and complicated and half dead in some parts, but still it was a trace of my history as best as I could manage. 

Would Professor Stacy accept it as a hybrid of the assignment? I wasn’t quite sure. All I knew when I looked at the paper later that evening was that it was something. Painful, but accurate, that followed the history of me. 

Taking my paper up to my room and settling onto the corner of my bed, I slip my phone from my pocket and open the lock. Before I realize what I’m doing I’ve hit dial and the line rings in my ear. 

“Anne? You okay?” The voice asks gently, concern around the edges. 

“I just needed to hear a friendly voice, Gil,” I murmur and feel a small weight lift from my shoulders as he hums and without question recounts his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, I know you're out there, reading, hopefully enjoying. I am heading away for a week or so and will be unlikely to post, please don't despair, I haven't left you hanging. For those celebrating family time, I hope it's good. For those not, I hope you're having a lovely day. For everyone else, I hope the sun shines on your weekend ahead!


	6. I'm On Your Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm On Your Side - The Glorious Sons

I meet with Professor Stacy five days later, a few more notes in my columns and a couple odd citations printed out to connect the families to me. Tucked away in the high-backed wing chair in the corner of her plant-filled office, I watch her as she looks over my assignment with her hands steepled together. 

“Anne, I didn’t realize,” she states eventually, a watery gaze turning to look up at me. “I’m sorry for not listening when you tried to express why this was difficult for you. Truthfully, I wish you’d come to me sooner to discuss it.” 

“I didn’t want to be an exception,” I murmur in return, trying to soothe my nerves as she exhales deeply. 

“Yes, I can see that. But had you brought this to my attention before I could have assisted, or made an amendment, perhaps had you trace another family instead - “ 

“Professor, if I’m being honest, while this part of the assignment was exceptionally difficult, I will admit that it needed to be done at some point. If not for your class then for myself alone.” Inside my heart is thumping, the realization of what the assignment had done for me only becoming apparent now that the hardest part - I hoped - was done. 

“I see,” she answers and though she doesn’t smile, I can see the expression on her face turn outwardly proud, like she was secretly cheering for me on the inside. “Do you think you’ll be prepared for the next part? Researching deeper into one of the branches you’ve discovered?” 

“I’d like to research my parents, if I can. I’m not sure how much I’ll find though, there seems to be very little record of them or any remaining family of mine.” 

“Yes - how about you make some preliminary inquiries and report back in a week or so? If you’re getting somewhere then we could follow down that path, but if not we can come to a solution before you draw yourself into a corner?” 

“I think I can agree to that,” I say with a nod. Professor Stacy gets to her feet then, urging me to stand as she reaches into her desk with a flourish. With a brisk scratch of red pen across the page, she marks the assignment with a B+, enough of a mark to keep my average at scholarship level. 

“I want to see a more thorough second piece to get us back up into the A territory, alright?” She adds as she hands back the assignment. 

“I’ll do my best,” I pause, my palms starting to sweat as I hold the page against my chest. “Professor Stacy, do you know what happens with the warning letter on my file? Does it impact my scholarship for next year?” She gives me a small smile, one that shows her uncertainty despite her clear desire to comfort me. 

“I’m not actually sure, Anne,” she starts, coming around the desk to join me near the door. “Why don’t I talk to the Dean’s Office and I’ll find out for you. Does that sound alright?” 

“I could go - “ I still when she rests her hand on my wrist, her gaze softening. 

“Let me take up this battle for you, you’ve got a long one ahead of you already,” she says and then drops her hand, opening the door with the flourish I’ve come to expect from her teaching style. “Now - onto your next adventure!” 

I exit the office with a smile on my lips, feeling lighter than I had for the past month. I’d passed the first assignment. I’d passed and kept my scholarship grade. Maybe I wasn’t going to get thrown out. Maybe, just maybe, I could dig myself out of this hole and live to study another day. 

“Good meeting?” Gilbert’s smooth voice greets as he bounces himself off the wall to come into stride beside me. I’d somehow forgotten he was here, waiting for me on the other side of the door, and now my heart clenched with the sight of him. 

_ You’ve got that meeting with Stacy today, remember - 9:44am - Gilbert _

_ Yeah. not looking forward to it - 9:45am - Anne _

_ Want company? - 9:45am - Gilbert _

_ “You didn’t have to come,” I state as I open the door of Patty’s Place to Gilbert, his mess of curls askew from the wind and his ears pink with the morning chill. _

_ “Sure I did. Who else is going to buy you a drink if it goes south?” He replies and steps past me. I turn and follow him into the living room as he stands near the fireplace, his hands tucked in his pockets and looking the picture of a tree I’d like to climb again. But with sobriety this time.  _

_ “Fine. I’m not going to argue. But I’m not going to be late either, so let’s go,” I mutter and look away, stuffing my thoughts back into the depths as I pull my coat from the hook.  _

_ When we finally arrive to Professor Stacy's office, I stall and twist my hands on the strap of my bag, looking at her open door with trepidation. I could do this. I could -  _

_ "I'll be here when you're done," Gilbert murmurs, drawing my gaze up to face him. He stands with his hands tucked in his coat pockets, a small smile on his lips.  _

_ "I can't," I croak, shaking my head as the nerves ratchet up. If this didn't go well, that was it. I was out of Redmond. Gone. I'd never walk across the campus with Gilbert at my side again. I'd never haunt the library or -  _

_ “Go talk to her, tell her what’s been happening so that she understands. If she does, we’re golden.”  _

_ “We?” I pause and look towards him, a puzzled look on my face.  _

_ “You didn’t think you were going at this alone, did you?” I keep staring as he laughs and shifts on his feet, his hands reaching for me so that I’m standing before him, his palms heavy on my shoulders. “I need my own distraction and you’re my friend so let’s do this - I want to help figure out just who Anne Shirley is, if she’ll let me.”  _

_ His eagerness hits me and I nearly stumble as he takes some of the mental weight from my shoulders, the relief filling me like a bottle of pop with a Mentos tossed in it. I practically burst from the feeling and before I realize it I’m reaching my arms around his neck and wrapping myself around him in a crushing hug. His own arms eventually find their way around me and I feel his lips against my temple, his soft words like a balm for my soul. _

_ “You’ll be okay Anne. You’re not alone.”  _

_ I notice only after I’m pulling back that my tears have managed to escape once more, my hands quickly rubbing my cheeks to clear the traces so that I can look up at him once more.  _

_ “You really don’t have to do this,” I say evenly, watching him for any sign that he was going to quit on me.  _

_ “Trust me, I know. I’m here because I want to be.” I take that with a nod and then step back and out of his reach, his hands slipping from my waist almost reluctantly as I turn back towards the office.  _

“I guess I didn’t mess it all up too badly,” I state, handing him the papers and revelling in the way he grabs my shoulders and spins me to face him excitedly. 

“Mess it up? Anne! This is a B+! That’s a qualifying mark!” He shouts. He’s practically jumping for joy as he watches my smile widen, his own eyes lighting with pride. “You did it.  _ You _ .” 

“I feel like it was a group effort - “ 

“No, don’t do that and sell yourself short. You came back from what would be a fatal blow for other students. And you came back swinging, if I might add. You deserve this win, Anne-girl,” he finishes softly. I try not to notice when his eyes sneak a glance at my lips, his cheeks flushing lightly as he pulls his hands away from where they cup my shoulders. I miss his touch when he goes, my body having practically leaned into him while he stood before me. 

“Thank you,” I murmur eventually, nodding my head in the direction to keep walking. 

We settle into an easy pace, heading nowhere in particular as the conversation weaves and roams. When we wind up at the cafe again I don’t protest when he buys my tea, his promise to buy me a drink at the end of the meeting too contractual to contest. 

“What do you have to do next?” He asks as we settle into the prized comfy chairs in the corner, the ones tucked into the window alcove and basking in the afternoon’s light.

“I need to dig deeper into my parents. I was thinking of trying the provincial records here and if that yielded nothing then maybe I would head to Bolingbroke to see if they had anything there,” I pause and turn my gaze out the window, breathing through the anxiety that that thought caused. I didn’t want to go to the place where I was born, where I was orphaned, but I wasn’t sure I could finish this assignment without doing it. 

“Bolingbroke? Isn’t that near the ferry to PEI?” He asks then, breaking me from my thoughts. 

“Is it? I didn’t really look at the map,” I lie. I had looked at the map. For hours until my eyes burned and the tears had stopped falling. I'd seen where my home was, the little village but a small speck you had to zoom in twice to find.

“I think so. I drive that route once a month when I go back to check in on the Cuthberts. I could drive you, drop you off along the way,” he offers as my eyes flick up towards him. 

“I was just going to rent a car this weekend - “ 

“It wouldn’t be an issue,” he interjects lowly, watching as I twist my hands around my drink. 

Could I spend an afternoon with Gilbert, trapped in a moving vehicle? Two, if I was being realistic? I knew I could, logically, but what if I needed to get out of there before he came back? No. I couldn't carpool into this. I needed an escape hatch and I couldn't ask him to schedule his life around me.

"I didn't realize you went back to the Island that much," I say instead and turn my gaze back to the windows. Gilbert shifts in his chair and takes a sip of his drink, letting the silence drag out until I can't help but look back at him. When I do his eyes are locked on my face, his brow furrowed in thought until he leans forward abruptly.

"They're not getting any younger. I help them with some of the farm and housework they can't get done on their own, check in on them. Spoil myself with Marilla's home baked bread…"

"That sounds like a fair trade," I add when he pauses. 

"It is. But it's hard. With studies here and the Cooper Prize, plus Matthew hasn't been well lately so there's that - "

"Is he sick?" I question, knowing just how much Gilbert cared for the neighbour who had taken him under his wing. Matthew, by Gilbert's own admission, was practically a father to him. Maybe that's why Gilbert looked rougher than usual lately. Maybe - 

"Yeah. It's his heart. He keeps trying to say he's alright but the doctor says otherwise. I've been going home more because of it."

"I don't remember you being gone for whole weekends though?" I wonder aloud as he chuckles softly.

"That's because I'm only ever gone for a night or so. I head out after class, if I can make the ferry that's great but if I don't have time I cross the bridge. I'm surprised you haven't noticed - "

"I mean, I have… I just thought you were with someone - " -  _ else _ . I'd almost said it, the beaten up pack of condoms flashing in my mind's eye.

"No. I don't have time for anyone else," he admits and there's something in his voice as he says it, a hint of steady hopefulness that draws my gaze up to his. His smile widens slightly, a sparkle in his eye as I blink and look away.

"Oh, I didn't realize," I start, clutching my drink to my chest as I try not to connect the dots with my assumptions. Did he mean anyone other than me? Or did he mean he didn't have time for me either? I couldn't be sure with that crooked smile.

"Anyways," he sighs when after a moment I still don't continue my thought. "I don't think I can help you at the archives because I've got this chem test. I was trying to get around it but - "

"You didn't - I mean, I'm sure I'll be okay at the archives. It's not my first time there - " 

"I know but I still wanted to try," he insists as I throw him a raised brow. "What? Maybe  _ I  _ wanted to go to the archives!"

"Mhmm," I nod and roll my eyes as he smiles back at me. We spend the next hour sipping our drinks and teasing one another, the light barbs and easy laughter so different from the conversations that had consumed us only a week ago. 

It feels easier than it did before, like maybe this time I finally wasn't pretending or keeping a facade about me. I was able to be the Anne I kept tucked away inside, the one who was sure of herself and ready to love people who could maybe love her back. She trusted and maybe now I was starting to trust too, my thoughts turning rampant with the realization of the rabbit hole I was going down so quickly with the changing mood of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I had a free moment and knew this chapter was ready so here we are! If you're following the music titles, I just wanted to say you should definitely check out this one - The Glorious Sons. They're a local band and they've got a song called Pink Motel that I just live for. Anyhoo, hope you're enjoying!


	7. 4am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4am - Our Lady Peace

The old records office is dingy, the reference area cramped and damp and I can’t help but wonder if that smell was coming from the vents or a dead rat in the ceiling. It’s not where I want to spend my evening but here I am, shifting in the uncomfortable folding chair as I go through the annual birth registration records from the Aberdeen hospital for the year I was born. 

“Finding what you’re looking for?” The archivist asks with a gravelly voice. 

“Not particularly,” I call back and am met with a coughing fit that sounds something like an attempt at laughter. 

“Figured that was the case. We close up in about half an hour, so if you need to make any final notes I suggest you do it now and come back tomorrow.”

“Got it,” I mutter. I flip through the remaining pages for my year and groan. I was almost done. If I could just speed through this final batch I wouldn’t  _ have _ to come back tomorrow. 

But with that push came the realization that if I didn’t find anything here, I had no choice but to go to Bolingbroke this weekend. Forcing the thought to the back of my mind, I return my focus to the pages and run my finger through the lines searching for anything akin to my family name to appear. 

After four hours of searching I come up empty. The physical access records have no proof of my existence which doesn’t surprise me - not after what Mary had explained by phone after speaking with a counsellor who worked with tracing family histories. 

_ “If it was a home birth, you wouldn’t show up in the hospital records,” Mary affirms over the line, pausing as she mutters through her notes. “The official records would be kept locally if that was the case. And he also told me that if there was a local trace of your family it might be in the local papers - not everyone was connected then and local papers haven’t yet put their archives online so it’s still a lot of digging to do.”  _

_ “Thanks Mary,” I sigh, rubbing my forehead.  _

_ “Do you think you’ll be alright? Driving all the way up there by yourself? Do you want Bash to take you?” She offers and I can hear the concern in her voice, the subtle hints of it lining her words.  _

_ “I’ll be okay. It’ll probably turn up nothing anyways and I’ll be back to square one. Can’t get hurt if there’s nothing to get hurt by, you know?” I chide despite my hesitation. We both knew that I was perfectly capable of being hurt by nothing, the lack of my history threatening to wound me if I wasn’t careful.  _

_ "Well, call us if you need anything, you hear?”  _

_ “I hear. Thanks Mary, for everything,” I add and close my eyes as she bids her goodbye and hangs up. _

I stuff the memory back down and toggle my browser to the car rental page, booking myself a car to get me out of the city and to my place of birth. 

The rest of the week passes in a blur of classes, half-eaten meals and projects that I’ve been procrastinating on. I hadn’t realized that when I’d spun out so brightly earlier this semester not only had I messed up my writing course, I’d also put all my other courses in disarray by not keeping up. I was barely above water right now in some of them, the coursework heavy as we started to run towards the finish line of the semester. 

When Friday comes I bid my goodbyes to the girls and hit the road, the music loud and the skies clear as the temperature dips below freezing. My phone guides every turn out of the city and before long I’m cruising down the highway, the world sprawling out before me as I try not to grip the steering wheel too hard. 

The route isn't long - barely two hours - but I spend the time lost in the lyrics, avoiding the plans that I'd written down in my notebook. The ones that told me where to go when I arrive and what files to look into first - the same thoughts I knew had the most chance of sending me into a spiral of disappointment. So I refused to think of them until I had to.

I'm halfway through  _ Hooked on a Feeling _ when the music pauses and my ringtone sounds throughout the car, making me jump as I look down in confusion at it. I tap the button and listen to the crackling line.

"Anne?" Gilbert's disembodied voice surrounds me.

"Hey - I'm driving right now so - "

"Yeah, that's what Phil said earlier too. Just wanted to call and let you know I'll be on the Island this weekend. I'm only about an hour away of things get tough, okay? I mean, you don't have to call me - just… if you need to."

I let the silence draw out between us as I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. He was offering to be my backup, the one who was there if I couldn't face it, or if what I found knocked me down. This - this  _ friend _ of mine - was trying to show me how much he cared, even if I'd fruitlessly tried to keep him from getting too close to protect myself.

"Anne? You still there?"

"Yeah - yes, I'm still here, sorry. I appreciate that Gil, truly. I just - Yeah. Thank you."

I didn't know how to tell him just how thankful I was to have his thread of hope tied to me. It was like a buoy in the ocean, something that would keep me afloat if only I had the courage to reach out and grasp onto it. 

“No need to thank me. Have a good weekend,” he finishes and I nod, even though he can’t see me. I nod because if I were to say anything he would hear the hiccup of tears in the back of my throat and surely he’d see through my facade of strength with the perceptive ease that he’s always had when he’s around me. 

After he hangs up the music returns to full blast and I try to lose myself in it once again, belting out the words even if they’re wrong until my voice starts to crack and my throat feels raw. When I arrive at the hotel later that night I check in and hole myself up in the room, only leaving to get something from the vending machine as I turn my attention towards my outstanding assignments and any thoughts to distract me from the search tomorrow. 

* * *

I wake feeling nauseous, my stomach curdling as I roll over and look out on the Northumberland Strait outside my window. I’d picked my hotel for exactly this reason - the view on the ever churning waves outside that matched my feelings about this trip. There was no way I was mentally settled for today’s mission - how could I be? I was here to find out about my dead family, the people I’d never had a chance to mourn because they left me so soon. The only reason I was in this small town was to delve into the misery that had sent me to Halifax - a place that had been a challenge for me all these years. 

What would I find in this place by the sea? Was there any possibility of finding anything akin to happiness here? Or was I destined to leave feeling worse than I did now?

My stomach turns again and this time I can’t ignore it, getting to my feet and quickly pacing towards the washroom to expel its minimal contents. With nothing left to give, I turn to the sink and brush my teeth, my hands quickly pulling my mane of red hair back from my face as I avoid taking in my rough complexion and the shadows under my eyes. I was in no place to confront myself. Not today. 

The first stop on my list is the Aberdeen hospital with the medical records request form that my case worker prepared for me earlier in the week. I force myself to walk in with my head held high, my palms sweating as I find my way to the administration office. Inside the small space are cabinets upon cabinets and a little woman tucked in the corner of the room. 

“How may I help you?” I’m asked and I’m sure I look startled, my cheeks heating as I try to form the words. Anne Shirley, tongue tied once more. 

“I - I’m… I have this,” I burst, thrusting the papers towards her. She takes them with a half-smile, slipping on her reading glasses to look through the pages. 

“Do you have identification, Ms Shirley?” She asks and turns her attention towards her computer screen. I pull out my wallet and slide my license across the table, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why don’t you have a seat while I pull everything together?” 

Slowly, I shift until I’m perched on the edge of the chair. I can’t help but be surprised with how easy this seems - almost  _ too  _ easy - and so I keep my lips sealed as she gets up and putters around the small space. Almost ten minutes go by before the printer starts reeling and pages spit out of the machine in quick succession, her hands quickly placing a large file in the threader to feed through additional copies. 

“Nearly done, dear,” she adds as she places the last chunk of files into the tray. The sound of the gears turning grates on my nerves and nearly drives me insane as I wait, my hands twisting in my lap for nothing better to do. “There we have it. The complete files of Bertha and Walter Shirley. They’re not much but I hope you find what you’re looking for.” I take the two folders she hands me, their weight heavy as I slide them into my bag and get to my feet. “Oh! Don’t forget this - you may need it for future red tape,” she adds as I reach the door, scurrying up behind me and handing me back the request papers. 

Back in the car, I leave my bag on the passenger seat and rest my forehead against the steering wheel, the haunting presence of the pages creeping up the back of my neck. Why had that been so easy? I’d expected a battle, multiple trips as I tried to ensure I had the right documentation, but I’d just walked in and asked for what I wanted and I’d gotten it. 

It seemed too good to be true and so I pull loose the request pages and flip past the cover page. Inside a handwritten note from Mary accompanies the formal documentation, her neat scrawl across the paper piquing my curiosity. 

_ To whomever it may concern,  _

_ I would like to introduce you to Anne Shirley, a wonderful young woman with a bright future ahead of her. She’s in search of records of her family in order to pursue her studies under a scholarship at Redmond University.  _

_ I trust her social worker, Alice Murphy, has prepared all the required documentation for her search and hope that this introduction letter will reduce her need to repeat her situation as few times as possible as it is difficult for her to discuss at this time. Any efforts to streamline this process would be greatly appreciated.  _

_ Many thanks,  _

_ Mary Lacroix, MA, RSW _

_ Family Services NS _

“Mary…” I breathe, tucking the note against my chest as I think of the woman back in Halifax who treated me with such kindness. 

With her note in hand I felt like maybe this wouldn’t be so hard - like maybe I could actually get somewhere with my search and the assignment that waited for me. Setting the pages back on the passenger seat I start the engine and make my way towards the local paper where I drive twice around the block before I find somewhere to park. The small building is aged, but still well-kept as I step into its bright lobby. 

“Hi - I’m wondering if you have an archive? I’m doing research for a project at school and I’m hoping to see if there were any records related to two individuals,” I pause as the receptionist furrows her brows. 

“How far back are we talking about?” She asks evenly, sitting back in her chair. 

“Twenty to twenty-five years, if that’s possible?” She clucks her tongue and rolls her chair back, flipping through some files in her desk drawer before rolling back towards me.

“We started up about thirty years ago. Not many copies left since then but our archivist might be able to help. Call Albert and see if he has any records on the names you’re looking for,” she instructs and hands me a business card. 

Outside in the car I dial the number and a rough voice answers, Albert seemingly a smoker of many years if I had to guess. 

“‘Ello?” 

“Um - hi. Sarah at the reception for the Chronicle said to call you about accessing the archives?” I question, pausing as I hear him shuffle papers on the other end of the line. 

“Sure, sure, what are you looking for then?” 

“I’d like anything you might have on the names Walter and Bertha Shirley. Is it possible to get anything by end of day?” It’s a long shot, I know, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. 

“Sure. I’ve got it all catalogued at the warehouse. Can pull out anything we have with those names. When do you want to stop by?” He asks and I can’t believe that this is happening, that it could be this easy again to find the information. 

“Would three o’clock work?” I answer and he hums his response, setting the time for me to be there to pick up the files. 

When we hang up I can’t help the niggling feeling that there were greater forces at play here, the research seemingly too easy to be happening like this. Not one person had questioned my intentions and there didn’t seem to be any checks on what I was planning on doing with the information. 

“Mary, did you contact everyone I planned to visit today?” I ask abruptly as she answers her phone, my throat tight as I close my eyes. 

“I didn’t. But Bash might have made a few calls on your behalf even though I told him not to get involved unless you asked,” she answers easily, her voice light as I sigh into the line. “Is it a problem? Do you want me to talk to him?” 

“No,” I mutter and lean back in the front seat of the car. “I just - I wished he’d told me. I would have asked him not to so I could figure it out myself.” 

“I know. But you know him, he’s too helpful for his own good. He’s been worried and sometimes that makes him get carried away.” 

“Thanks Mary. Give him my love, won’t you?” I request before ending the call and closing my eyes. 

Bash. Sweet, caring Bash. He’d tried to pave the way for me, to make this feat a smaller mountain to climb and though my stubborn streak wanted to chastise him for making it easier, I couldn’t help but be thankful for his forethought. It meant I likely wouldn’t have to come back here, I wouldn’t have to keep reliving this place for the next few weeks as though the ghosts I sought were buried in the shadows. No. It was easier this way and it meant I had someone in my corner, ready to throw the punches I couldn’t rouse myself to throw. 

By the time the sun sets, I’ve collected all of the records that I’d set out to find - medical, newspaper clippings (though the pile was small), church records and property deeds that the city could produce. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing and when I arrive back to my hotel room I stuff down some takeout and stare at the pile on the bed beside me. 

That was all that remained of the trace of my family - this little stack of paper that started and ended with my parents lives here in Bolingbroke. I didn’t want to read it. Ever since I was younger I’d always liked imagining better than knowing and this seemed like a perfect situation for that. If I didn’t have to know the details of my parent’s deaths then I could imagine their lives as something greater, as two remarkable humans who lost me somewhere along the way. I could imagine them happy, free… Anything but cold and dead in the graveyard on the edge of town. 

But I no longer had that option and so I pull the files towards me and start pouring over the pages. 

A marriage certificate, a tiny house off Water Street, my mother’s funeral records signed by my father and a second batch signed by the coroner for my father. The medical records were cold and detached from the case, the doctor’s handwriting hard to read as I pressed through the medical lingo. 

“Bertha Shirley was pronounced dead at 01:29 due to complications resulting from an undiagnosed ectopic pregnancy…” I pause as I read the line again, trying to digest that I might have had a sibling one day had fate worked in my favour and my parents had survived. My eyes burn as I read through what I can of the rest of her file, the way the ambulance had brought her in and how they’d completed compressions for 36 minutes. 

They’d tried to save her. They had.

I set the pages down and brush the tears from my cheeks, sighing as I look out at the rumbling ocean through my window. I feel the crash of the waves as though they’re hitting me, the loss of my mother fresh in my heart. In front of me my father’s papers haunt me, hiding the truth of his own death in their pages. I had to face it now or I never would. 

“Myocardial infarction?” I whisper as I look through the pages, confusion making me pause. I read on, hoping that the cause will make sense with more clarity, but none of it makes sense. There was a surgery, possibly, but I couldn’t figure out the timeline or what had actually happened. Where Bertha’s report had been comprehensive and chronicled, Walter’s was sloppy and disjointed, spread across two days and five different signatures. 

He’d been passed off like a hot potato, his complaint escalating to the point where there was no saving him. 

Before I can drown in my sorrows I know I need to talk to someone - to try to understand just what I’m reading so that I can live my life without ever having to read these documents again. I needed to be free of them and the hurt they caused to open a chasm within me. 

“Gil?” I whisper when the line picks up, a cow sounding in the background to greet me as the whip of wind echoes across the line. 

“Anne? Can I call you back?” He asks briskly, a grunt escaping him as the phone rustles. 

“I just - can you tell me what myocardial infarction is? That’s all, I promise,” I request and try to loosen my grip on the phone. 

“Oh - that’s a heart attack,” he pauses then and I can hear a horse’s whinny, the picture of him herding cattle making me smile through the tears that burst from my eyes at the explanation. 

“Thanks Gil, have a good night,” I murmur and though I try to hold it together, to keep the sound of tears from my voice, my words crack at the end and I’m not sure I hang up fast enough to keep the suffering within my room. 

With the knowledge of my parent’s deaths fresh in my mind, I close the files and curl up into a ball on my mattress, my eyes focused on the ocean as I try to stem the pain that builds within my chest. The grief at their loss - at the loss of people I never knew - strikes me down and when my phone rings twenty minutes later I refuse to answer it as the tears soak into my pillow. 

Evening sets in and I can’t find it in me to move, my body frozen to its spot for what seems like hours. I try to think my way out of my aching sadness, to do what my counsellor used to tell me to do when it came to these spinning thoughts that just wouldn’t quit, but nothing really helps. Every so often my phone will ring again and I’ll think to answer it, my eyes flicking towards the screen and seeing the happy faces staring back at me. Gil. Mary. Phil. Bash, even. 

One time I manage to pull it close, even opening the screen to read the message and internally twisting at Gilbert's words. 

_ You sounded upset. Are you okay? 6:58pm _

_ Do you need help? 8:33pm _

_ Can you tell me you’re okay so I don’t worry? 9:02pm  _

I close my eyes and breathe through writing the answer, my fingers quickly tapping across the keyboard. 

_ It feels like I’ve lost them all over again. 9:05pm - Anne _

_ I can only imagine. Can I call you? 9:05pm - Gilbert _

_ Yes. 9:05pm - Anne _

My phone rings and for a moment I look at the screen and regret it, my heart thumping heavily in my chest at the idea that I couldn’t do this on my own. But then I remember that it’s okay not to do it alone - that maybe I would do better if I leaned into the family I chose, the friends who knew me as I was now. 

“Hey,” Gilbert voice is soft on the other end of the line and my tears threaten to start again until I swallow them back. 

“Hi Gil,” I breathe. 

“Are you safe? In Bolingbroke?” 

“I am. I’ve got a room at the motel for the night. I thought I would be okay to do this on my own but it just… It hurts so much. I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” I sob as the words spill from my lips and my composure cracks. 

“I know. I understand," he pauses and I hear him exhale a shaky breath, the remnants of his own loss colouring his words when he speaks again. "Can you tell me about them? That always helped me."

"I don't know much. They didn't have a big wedding - apparently it happened on a weeknight in the church. They had a small house that's supposedly still standing and I'm going to go see it tomorrow. They're buried where they got married so maybe, if I feel up to it, I'll go see them - " I gasp at the thought and feel the hurt flare at my mind's eye picturing crumbling tombstones, long abandoned by me without even realizing.

"Shh, hey, you're okay. It's gonna be okay," Gilbert repeats over and over until I stop crying, his voice soothing despite the way it shakes.

"Tell me something funny Gilbert, please, I need a story," I whimper eventually, desperate for anything to distract me.

"The cows escaped today. Matthew missed shutting the gate securely and they got out and into the orchard. That's what I was doing when you called - I was trying to round them up and get them home."

"Did you look like a cowboy? Because I'm trying to picture it and I'm struggling," I ask with a weak smile.

"Not likely, but I can assure you I was dashing because, well, you've seen me," he chuckles and the sound is light easy and I - 

" - Miss you." It escapes from me and I nearly groan, my mouth having gotten away from me at the worst possible time. 

"I miss you too, Anne. Even though it's been like, maybe a full 48 hours," he pauses and I hear him shift, the picture of him sitting in an old gable room staring out on a sprawling farm seems so possible in that moment. "Are you going to be okay tonight?"

"I don't know," I reply and it's all I can manage. I couldn't lie and say I'd power through it, not when all I could think about was running into the ocean and letting it take me under.

"Do you want company? I'm not trying to make a play here, I just don't want you to be alone if you don't want to be. I can get my own room or drive back here and - "

"What about the cows?" 

"They're already back in the barn." 

I take his offer and sit with it for a moment, my thumb picking at my nail as I turn it over. I really didn't want to be alone right now, not when it was so easy to get lost in myself and the hurt that riddled through me. But having him come here, relying on him for something I could never repay… 

"It's no trouble?" I question, almost too quiet to hear.

"None at all."

"Then yes. I want company."

"Okay. I'll hit the road tonight then. I'll see you soon," he says and in the background I hear him already zipping up a bag and shuffling around his room.

He arrives a few hours later, his knock on my room door forcing me out of bed and into his arms. Without asking he pulls me tightly into his chest and rests his cheek against my temple.

"Hey Carrots," he murmurs as his arms tighten around me. 

"I'm so glad to see you, Gil," I answer and eventually withdraw, leading him into the room and suddenly feeling unsure of myself. He drops his bag at the entryway and sets his keycard pointedly on the desk before leaning against the wall. 

"I got a room so you can forget whatever is causing you to make that face," he chides playfully, his eyes alight as I shake my head and look at my toes. "But seriously, I'm just here as your friend. No strings, no complications, I promise, it's just you and me."

"Okay. That's good to know. But I will say that it seems dumb for you to waste your money on a room if mine has two beds. Why don't you see if you can cancel and stay here? If that doesn't change anything for you," I add hastily to hide how much I wanted him nearby.

"Are you sure you won't mind?" He offers and I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest as he picks up the phone and calls the front desk. A few minutes later his key card is voided, his tall frame settling onto the edge of one of the beds as he twists his hands in his lap.

"Can we just… watch TV or something?" I ask eventually as the silence drags on. Daringly, I step towards his bed and ease down beside him until our legs are almost touching as the mattress sags under our weight.

"Yeah, we can do that," he answers and grabs the remote before shifting until his back is resting against the headboard. I follow him like a moth to light, only this time I don't hesitate to inch closer until I can rest my head comfortably against his shoulder. 

We don't talk about the closeness, or the way he shifts to make me more comfortable as his arm comes to wrap around my shoulders. Instead we focus on the screen and the absent black and white movie playing, our quiet jokes and commentary slipping out as the evening wears on.

I don't know when it happens but sometime later I manage to finally fall asleep, Gilbert's rhythmic breathing and warmth dragging me under. I wake in the dark to an empty bed, my hand sliding across the mattress to find it cold. Sitting up with a shot, I feel the loss like another hit and the tears come at me in a rush.

"Woah, hey, hey what's all this?" Gilbert's voice calls. I feel the mattress compress behind me and I lurch towards him, wrapping my arms around him so he can't leave me too. "Okay. You're okay, I've got you," he murmurs as his arms come around me. 

I inhale sharp breaths, the panic like a static in my head as I pull him tighter against me. He clings to me almost as fiercely, his fingers snaking into my mess of hair and holding me against his chest. 

I'm not sure what I'm thinking when I lift my chin and seek out his lips with mine. It could be I'm not thinking at all - my whole being suffering under the dredge of the day - but when he returns the kiss my heart feels a little less heavy and the stress in my frame falters. So instead of pulling back like I know I should, like I'd tried to ensure I would, I curl in closer and weave my fingers through the curls at the base of his neck.

He moans at the touch and with the sound his lips part, granting me entry and I seize on it. Hurt seems to dissipate with the touch and I spur the relief I feel into climbing onto his lap and wrapping myself so tightly around him that I'm incapable of inhaling fully. 

I don't want to think. Not with this weight crushing me into the ground.

Gilbert's warmth circles around me as I take everything he'll offer, my lips dragging along his chin to his ear and then to a spot on his neck. In return his hands drift down my sides, gripping tightly to my hips as I rock against him. It feels good to press into his lap and so I urge myself onward, fingers tugging at his shirt tail and pulling it up and over his head. When his chest is bare I pull at the sides of my own shirt and discard it to the side of the bed, finding a sliver of solace in the skin-to-skin contact. 

"Anne," he breathes and the name my parents gave me, the one they spelt particularly with the extra 'e', makes my heart clench.

I didn't want to think about them. About their bodies underground. About the hospital where they'd died, alone and without any fanfare.

My hands clench into fists as I attempt to use my mouth to silence him. I was desperate to escape and he was here and I could feel him wanting me as much as I wanted to think of anything else but the images in my head.

As I drop my hands to his waist and brush my knuckles over his length he hisses, drawing back and forcing himself to exhale. The moment of stillness let's the loneliness back in and I cry out when his fingers graze the sides of my breasts. I expect - hope - he'll touch me, hold me, make me forget. But his hands don't stop at my chest as they rise up to cup my chin, forcing me to slow my assault on his mouth.

" _ Anne _ ," he tries again to still me, his voice hoarse and the sleep that had been in his eyes a few moments ago no longer there. He was awake now, measuring, with wide clear eyes. 

_ No, no, no, _ my brain shouts as my body tries to lean in once more. It doesn't work. His hands keep me at a distance as his eyes search mine, his thumbs brushing the tears from my cheeks.

"I promised," he says lowly, almost as if he was fighting his own demons.

"Why don't you want me?" I croak in response, my heart aching with it. Everyone always left me, or tossed me aside and now Gilbert was doing it too.

"No, that's not what's happening here," he murmurs and I feel more so than hear his urgency. "I want you, you know I do, but I want what's here first," he adds and drops his palm to my chest, his warm skin burning straight through to my heart.

Because I'm a mess or because I'm a fool, I take his hand and guide it to my breast where I urge him to squeeze my flesh. I needed to feel something, anything, to break this rejection. His gaze locks onto mine and his mouth forms a firm line as his hand stays prone against me. 

"I don't want to feel like this anymore. I just want to forget. Please, help me forget Gil," I moan when after a moment he still doesn't relent.

With his hand back up on my chin, I nearly shatter when he leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. His touch lingers and I can't help reaching for him, finding his mouth with mine and feeling a burst of success when he gives in and lets me kiss him again. The earlier frantic pace has withered but my need to forget, to escape, has only bolstered with the slip of hope he's offered.

"We should stop," Gilbert mutters as I track my lips across his collar.

"Please.  _ Please _ ," I plead, resting my forehead against his neck. I wouldn't force him but I could barely contain myself from the way I was disintegrating. I needed release. I needed salvation.

"Come, lay down," he says eventually, guiding me off of his lap and onto the mattress. His frame moves in behind me and I feel myself relax into him, shifting until my back is flush against his chest. He doesn't speak as his lips caress my shoulder, his hand grazing my side as it moves down towards my hip. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest as he slips his fingers past my waistband, pausing to splay his hand against my skin. "Is this okay?" He rasps, smoky at the shell of my ear. 

I almost cry out my desperate "Yes," my teeth nearly piercing my lip as I nod my acceptance. 

He sighs, his mouth tracing a path to my neck as his fingers delve through the curls between my legs, running them gently across my entrance. I nearly sob at the contact as he nips at my skin and slides his fingers inside, dragging my wetness through my folds and rotating against my clit.

The hurt spilling from me starts to slow, its caustic burn easing as he distracts me with his touch. Inside my body starts to alight as the pressure builds, my hips rolling into his hand as his breath pants across my shoulder. Behind me his length hardens and when I try to rub up against it, to give him the same relief he's giving me, he only eases back and increases the pressure on my center. 

The orgasm bursts through me and I call out, relief washing into my veins as the rush ends in a waterfall of tense muscles easing. With it though comes another round of hot, fresh tears and I try to keep them as silent as possible for fear of driving him away. 

It doesn't work.

Gilbert moves his hand from between my legs and shifts to press once more against my back, his length insistent and forgotten as he wraps his arm around my waist and tucks me closer. Fingers brush my hair back from my face as a leg slips between mine, looping us so solidly together that I couldn't untangle us if I tried. 

"Just let it out. I've got you, Anne, I'm right here," he whispers into my ear and there's unmistakable tears in his voice, his fingers tightening their grip as he gives me permission to fall apart in his arms.

He doesn't leave me even when the sunlight begins to creep in through the window, the world opening up to the ocean outside once more. I watch with bleary eyes as wave after wave crashes ashore, my hands gripping Gilbert's arms as he curls in closer behind me. His warmth at my back keeps me centred, grounded, and I no longer feel bound to drift away with him tethering me to the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends - this was a long one! Sorry about that but I wanted to keep the feeling of the chapter together and it just kept getting longer the more I edited... Anyways. I hope you enjoy it. I've had a bit of a family emergency so the other chapters might be delayed getting out. Apologies in advance.


	8. We All Need Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We All Need Someone - The Strumbellas

The day hurts. Together Gilbert and I drive by the old house, its shutters pulled tightly shut and the lawn overgrown. There's no car in the driveway and when no life stirs I ask Gilbert to move on to my last stop in the small town. We don't talk about what happened earlier that morning, the dawn having found us unable to face what happened in the night.

_ When I eventually pull away, my soul ravaged and torn, it's to sit on the edge of the mattress and continue my staring contest with the waves. My hair is a catastrophe around my face, pulled to one side and poking out in every direction. I must look like how I feel, shambles both inside and out.  _

_ "Are you okay?" Gilbert asks softly from behind me, the mattress shifting as he sits up. _

_ "I'm sorry I behaved like that. I didn't mean - " _

_ "You don't have to apologize," he interjects quickly, attempting to release me from my guilt. _

_ "No. No, Gil, I definitely do. I used you even though I told you I wouldn't. And I hadn't thought - that's not why I reached out last night. Really. Not then at least. It's just, I woke up and I felt so alone and it was like a fissure opened up inside of me and sucked up everything that was good. I still feel like everything is wrong. Like I'm going to have to do this all alone," I say, my voice cracking.  _

_ Behind me he shifts and I feel the press of his forehead against the top of my spine, his lips leaving a kiss that's followed by a sigh that tickles down my back. _

_ "Anne, I don't know how to ease this for you," he admits, his fingers reaching and linking with my own.  _

_ We sit in silence for a while longer, his body close to mine as I stare out at the expanse before me. I couldn't tell him that just his presence made the ache ease, the beat of his heart echoing in mine. So instead I let him breathe life back into me until I feel like maybe I can stand on my own once more. _

I walk alone to the graveyard from the car, my arms wrapped around my chest as I look from one stone to the next. When I finally find the two graves side by side my knees give out and I hear a worried voice call to me, reminding me that I wasn't alone in this.

"I'm alright," I call back through tears, looking towards where Gilbert stands at the edge of the grass, concern etched in his features. I'd asked him to let me go at this by myself, to let me find them and come to peace with their deaths so I could finally move forward.

Looking back at the aged rocks, I lift my arm and run my fingers over their names before dropping my hand to the cold ground below me. Here lay the family who had birthed me, who'd left me not of their own choice but through fate. My mother and father who surely would have loved me, now hidden beneath the veil between life and death.

"Hello Walter, Bertha. It's your daughter, Anne," I pause and release a shaking breath, closing my eyes as I picture them standing happily nearby. "I know I haven't come to see you before but I didn't know about you until just recently. Before that - people took care of me when you had to go and I'm doing okay now. I'm in school and I've got friends who care for me and have my back. They're friendly and funny and they've been trying really hard to help me these past few weeks because I didn't realize - until I knew about you at least - how much I would miss you. 

"That's why I never came. I didn't know who you were, or even who I was to be honest. I guess I'm still trying to figure it out. But I promise not to abandon you here again. I'll come back someday, okay? I won't leave you alone because I know how hard that can be… even though I guess you're not really alone, since you have each other... I just - I wish I could have known you. I think that would have been easier. I don't know. I hope wherever you are now you're dancing and surrounded by things that make you happy. I'm going to try to find that for myself too, so don't worry about me. I don't know what else to say, just that I miss you even though I never knew you."

I shift and rest my head in my hands, taking in a breath before getting to my feet with a heavy exhale. I look down at the lonely stones a final time before bidding my goodbye and turning back towards the car.

Gilbert watches me approach with his hands tucked in his jacket pockets, his face unreadable as I draw nearer. I debate just stepping by him, crawling into the passenger seat and stuffing my emotions back deep inside, but I can no longer keep myself contained and I lurch towards him, my arms coming around his waist as his own wrap tightly around me in return.

With no trails left to follow in the tiny town, Gilbert turns the car back towards the hotel where I've left my rental and pulls up alongside it. We sit in silence as I twist my fingers together, staring out the front dash and forcing myself to breathe.

"Will you be alright to drive back by yourself?" He asks after a while, his gaze burning into me as I stare straight ahead. I nod because it's all I can manage, my words dying on my lips.

Reaching for the handle I climb out of the passenger seat, forcing myself up and towards the trunk to grab my bags. Gilbert's already there, lifting my luggage for me and carrying it to my car. Once it's safely stored, I shut the trunk and glance up at him, his expression tight with worry.

"I'll be okay," I promise, doing my best to be convincing.

"I'll just be in the car behind you if you're not," he responds and I shift uneasily, remembering he'd come here to make sure I held it together.

"Thank you, Gil. For everything," I murmur, looking away towards the road and trying desperately to keep myself upright. I wished I was home, in bed, surrounded by my blankets. 

With him by my side.

"You'll call me? If the fissure opens again?" 

"I'll call." 

I don't need to, not for the whole ride home with his headlights in my mirror.

* * *

"And you're certain this is all that remains?" Professor Stacy asks as I tell her about my findings. I've managed to write a brief overview, but it's nothing as in depth as she is looking for and I know I won't be able to provide it. It hurts too much.

"Yes, they were quiet people. Kept to themselves from what I could find. They didn't even have anyone to pay for their funerals, apparently they were as poor as church mice," I pause and force myself to breathe, twisting my hands together. "I'm having a really hard time focusing on them, Professor, I'm sorry."

"Then we'll find you an alternative, not to worry. Do you have anyone in mind?" She asks as she leans forward, her gaze sympathetic.

"Not really. I can ask around though and try to find something after the weekend. Would that be okay?" She nods and before long we've worked out a plan for the next week, my promise to get the assignment in on time hanging over me as I step out into the hall.

I return back to Patty's Place and retreat to my room, crawling into my bed and pulling the covers up around my neck. Though the sun shines brightly outside, all I want to do right now is hide away from everything and so I stay hidden until Pris tempts me out of my room with the promise of warm cookies.

In the living room the girls have prepared a poor man's feast, the table between the couches covered in snacks and bits of leftovers from the weekend. 

"We couldn't just let you sit up there all night," Stella greets as she looks up from where she's uncovering a tray of lasagna. Beside her Pris eases herself into one of the seats, her smile gentle as she looks up at me framed in the doorway. 

"And we didn't want you to have to tell us about your trip multiple times, so we're only going to ask you once how it went," Phil continues, her eyes locked on me as I shift on my feet. I hesitate and brush my hands over my face, my gaze dropping to the floor as I think about what I could possibly tell them about this weekend. “Come sit down with us. Share. It’ll help, I’m sure of it.” 

I join them by perching myself on the edge of the couch, hovering near the old fireplace as they start to dish out plates family style with a serving of everything on offer. Accepting mine with a word of thanks, I listen as they recount their own weekends, the rousing events they attended and the excessive details of Phil’s rendezvous with Jonas. When the stories finally reach me, I swallow and set my plate down before linking my hands in my lap. 

“Tell us about what you found,” Stella urges gently, reaching her hand across the space to squeeze my knee. 

“Not much, if I’m being honest. And I didn’t realize how much the  _ lack _ of their existence would bother me,” I pause and rub my hands over my face. “My mom died from complications related to an ectopic pregnancy and I guess my dad couldn’t handle the stress because he had a heart attack a few days later. Such regular occurrences and yet completely tied to luck and timing that I ended up alone, apparently.”

“Oh Anne,” Pris whispers, her fingers pressed to her lips as she watches me lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees. 

“The good thing about the trip was that Bash and Mary helped a lot. Apparently Bash made calls before I even went to try to grease the wheels for me which was a bit much, if I’m being honest, but I know it’s because he cares so I can’t really fault him for it. But that’s why I was able to find what I could otherwise I’d probably would have had to go back again this weekend and I’m not keen to go back there for a long time if I can avoid it. I did manage to get their property records though, and where they were buried, so on Sunday we went to both places right before we came back to Halifax.” 

“We?” Phil stirs inquisitively. I chew my lip and look at my feet before leaning back in my chair. 

“Gilbert came back from PEI early,” I reply slowly to her returning grin. “I called to ask him what the medical terminology meant from my dad’s file and I admitted I was having a hard time and he came to keep me from going crazy. It wasn’t anything like you’re imagining - “ 

“Are you quite sure? Because my imagination is working double time to make up for yours being on hiatus as of late,” Phil counters playfully and it manages to make my mouth form a firm line in response.

“My imagination is just fine, Phil, it’s just nothing fantastical right now is all,” I state to hopefully change the subject. It doesn’t work. 

“And when did Gilbert get there?” She presses as I sigh. 

“Saturday.”

“Mhmm. And you came back Sunday?” I nod and her smile broadens. “So he stayed with you on Saturday night? And… Kept you  _ company _ ?” 

“It wasn’t like that. He was just being a friend when I needed it,” I try to brush off the question but it does no good, the girl seizing on the idea as I wish I could disappear with the memory.

“Does he know that it was as a ‘friend’? Or is he under the impression it’s something more?” Phil questions. I swallow thickly and press my fingers into my eyes before sitting up with a huff.

“I’ve told him that I can’t be anything more right now. You guys have seen me lately, I’m a mess. There’s no way that I can focus on him or be the kind of partner he deserves, especially not when I feel like my life is out of control - “ 

“He knows all of this about you already, you know,” Phil interjects. I twist to look at her with wide eyes, understanding blooming in my chest. 

“How do you know that?” I snap. If Phil knew… Who else was he talking to about me? Could I even trust him? Had I been stupid to try? And how could he, after the way he'd held me and tried to make things better?

“Because Gilbert and I are friends and though he hasn’t said anything, he’s definitely alluded to being aware of what’s going on. You should give him more credit for what he’s able to take on for you,” she answers just as hotly. 

_ I don't know how to ease this for you. _

His words ring in my mind and I shift uneasily. Across from us Stella and Pris sit back in their chairs, watching the ping pong of our conversation build in intensity. 

“He shouldn’t have to take on anything, that’s the point,” I growl and burst to my feet. Phil grabs at my hand and tugs it to try to bring me back down. 

“You’re getting defensive over nothing,” she hisses. “I’m only trying to tell you the truth of what’s right in front of you. Gilbert cares about you. He wants to help you and he’s foolish enough to keep trying to be there for you even if you push him away. The least you can do is tell him it’ll never happen if you don’t feel the same so that he can pull back before he gets in too deep. He deserves at least that and you know it!” 

“I can’t!” I burst, recoiling internally at raising my voice. “I can’t tell him it will never happen because I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know what I’m feeling lately. I feel numb to everything except this - this damn project and the information it’s dragging into the light. Everything I learn  _ hurts _ and I don’t know how to deal with any of it and so I just push it aside until it gets to be too much and then I feel like I’m spinning out of control and the only thing that makes me feel like I’m fucking slowing down or able to catch my breath is  _ him _ . How am I supposed to tell him that I’m a mess and I don’t know if I’ll ever be better but that I can’t do this without him? How do you have that conversation with someone you want as badly as I want him?” 

My rant stills the room, my breathing heavy as I try to keep the tears at bay. Beside me Pris sniffles and when I look to her the sadness is plain on her face. Next to her, Stella has gripped Pris’ hand tightly in her own, her own expression stoic as she watches me carefully. When I finally look to Phil I’m surprised to find her standing, her brows tight with worry as she reaches an arm around me. 

“You just have to have it,” she murmurs into my ear. Her hug is strong and brings me back down to earth, my breath no longer heaving as she holds me closely. “Talk to him. Tell him what’s going on in that head of yours so he can make his own choices. Maybe he can help. He’s an orphan too, you know. I think that’s why he refuses to give up on you.” 

“What if he doesn’t choose me?” I mutter my quiet fear, the idea of me billowing in the wind, alone and cold filling my mind. He'd been there for me before, but the threat of him leaving was too real to dismiss.

“Then we’ll be here, love,” Pris answers softly, getting to her feet and joining Phil with her arms wrapping around me. Stella joins soon after and the four of us stand locked together until my tears have dried and my heart has steadied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. One - go check out this band from the title because they are the best. Two - I need to focus on this family stuff and another commitment I have on the ball, so don't be surprised if you don't hear from me until mid-next week. Love ya'll.


	9. Everybody Wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody Wants - Half Moon Run

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Gilbert’s voice rings out above me, drawing my gaze up to his from where it was starting to cross staring at this textbook. His smile widens and he pulls out the seat next to me, taking my book from my hands and reading the cover. “ _ Famous Haligonians _ ? What’s this?” 

“Professor Stacy says I can try to find an alternative to my parents, so I’m trying to do that and not go mad while I’m at it,” I answer as he hands me back my book. “What have you been up to? You look tired.” 

“Well, that’s quite the compliment, considering you don’t look so hot yourself,” he answers and bumps his shoulder against mine. 

“Please, don’t give me that lip,” I counter. “Where have you been since Sunday?” 

“I had to head back to the Island for some appointments with Matthew. I’m only in town for class today and tomorrow and then I’m heading back again for the weekend. Why don’t you come with me? Get a break from this place. I know Avonlea has an excellent genealogical society you could use,” he offers hopefully and for a second I think he’s kidding, my mouth opening to make a joke before catching the serious glint in his eye. 

He wasn’t kidding. He was offering me a chance to get away from everything and I wanted so badly to take it, my smile only faltering as I thought of what Phil had said the night before. I didn’t want to have that conversation with him. Not just yet. 

“What do you say, Carrots? Wanna come see what our magical Island has to offer?” 

“Yes.” It slips from me like a release, my heart beginning to hammer with it. Was I doing this?  _ Should _ I do this? 

“Really?” He counters with surprise before sitting up straight.

“I mean, if you were just kidding I would understand - “ 

“No! I mean, no I wasn’t kidding. I’m just surprised but in the good surprise kind of way. I’m heading out Thursday night, I can pick you up around six?” I nod and his smile only grows, the shadow of darkness lifting from his expression as the mood lightens. 

“Yeah, that would work. What do I need to do? What motel should I book in? Are you coming back on Sunday or Monday? I have a meeting with Stacy on Monday so I can take a bus or something if you’re not heading back in time or - “ 

“Oh - no, you don’t need a motel. We’ll stay with the Cuthbert’s because they’ve got plenty of room. And we can come back whenever you need to - I’m flexible. I’ve got a few things I need to get done so as long as I do them before Monday it isn’t an issue,” he pauses as my brow furrows, nerves starting to fray. “What? What’s that look for?” 

“I just… You want me to stay with you? At their farm?” 

“Of course. They’re practically my family and it isn’t an issue at all, I promise.” 

“Don’t you need to - I don’t know - ask them first?” I hesitate. He shakes his head and looks away. 

“We’re not that kind of people on the Island. Friends are welcome without question and Matthew would do well to meet you - he’s heard some of the stories of the scrapes you’ve gotten into and I’ve never seen the man laugh so hard. It’ll be fine, I promise,” he adds and maybe because he’s smiling so brightly or because his own excitement is contagious, I can’t help but smile in return despite my reservations. 

When Thursday rolls around I’m still not quite myself after the weekend in Bolingbroke, my body aching from the hours I’ve spent hiding away in my room and the tension I’ve held as I’ve searched for a family who I could write about. To say that I was uninspired was putting it lightly - I was downright worried at this point that no suitable match could be found. All the individuals I’d been able to trace so far were boring - privileged from birth and barely knew a struggle in their lives. Sure, they did great things in the scale of achievements, but I was determined to find something closer to my story - something that would restore the hope I so desperately craved. 

I didn’t think I was going to find it, not here, not in Halifax or maybe even on this coast. Gilbert’s island escape was the break I needed to reset, I hoped, and I tried to stuff down the fear that it was all going to go awry if I wasn’t careful. 

“Have you talked to him yet?” Phil asks as she leans against the door to my room while I put the last of my things into a bag. 

“I will,” I answer stiffly, knowing that she was right to keep pressing me on it but also secretly wondering if she was even on my side. The stress of her asking felt like a vise and I knew the only way out was to just do it, have the conversation, but I was terrified of what it would mean. 

“Good. I just wanted to say I hope you have a good weekend and that you get a break while you’re gone. You deserve it, love,” she adds and when I look to her a sympathetic smile is curling at the edges of her lips. 

“Thanks Phil. I hope so too.” 

Gilbert arrives right on time, hovering in the front entryway as I head down the stairs with my bag. He smiles up at me and turns to head back out the door as the girls call out their farewells from various places in the house. Seated in the car with my seatbelt clicked, I force myself to take a deep breath as he starts the engine and pulls away from the curb. 

We don’t talk much along the drive, the radio keeping us company as the highway passes us by. It’s only when we see the off-ramp for Bolingbroke that I feel my insides tangle, my knuckles turning white as my hands clasp tightly together. Knowing me better than I know myself, Gilbert lifts his hand from the steering wheel and rests his palm over my fists to provide an unspoken comfort as we pass through the small town. 

“Once we get across the ferry it’s not long after that. Just getting out of Nova Scotia is the long part, I promise,” Gilbert murmurs as we push onward towards the coast. I nod and keep my eyes trained out the front window, my often-present conversation nowhere to be found as we trek ever eastward. 

We arrive at the ferry just in time to board and when we park I half expect to spend the next hour in uncomfortable silence before Gilbert shuts off the engine and opens his door to climb out. 

“Where are you going?” I call to him, confused. 

“We’re going to the observation deck. Come on, get up,” he instructs and bangs on the roof of the car. Slowly, I crawl out of my seat and follow him down the line of cars and up a set of stairs until we’re in an open area that looks out on the Strait as the sun begins to set along the horizon. 

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper as the colours of the fading sky ripple across the gentle waves. Though it’s cold, I can’t manage to find a single complaint as the fresh air and the crisp wind rouse my hair around my face. 

“It is,” he agrees, only when I look at him he’s not looking out on the horizon like I am. Instead his gaze is trained on me for a second longer than necessary, a small hint of wonder in his expression before he turns and looks straight ahead too. 

The next half hour is spent on the deck as we pull away from the shore and watch the sun dip until darkness begins to settle in more fully. When it does we head into the heated waiting room, settling onto a bench in the corner where Gilbert tells me about his trips between his two homes. His stories are immersive, funny, and I feel myself easing into his presence like entering a warm bath on a cold day. 

By the time we dock on the Island it’s already dark, the roads covered with a light layer of snow that sparkles in the headlights. 

“Almost there,” Gilbert mutters as we move deeper into the night. 

“What if they don’t want me to stay?” I ask as we pull onto an aging dirt road, the bumps making my nerves fray a little bit more with each one. 

“They will want you to stay, I promise. The Cuthberts have spent their lives taking people in - after my parents died they took me in and then a couple years ago Marilla brought in two foster twins. You'll meet them while you're there - Davy and Dora. Dora is just this shy little thing, but Davy is a force to be reckoned with. And worst case scenario, we can stay at the orchard - "

"Is that a hotel?" I interrupt, trying desperately to keep up with the influx of information he's sharing.

"No - Not at all. It's my property, the farm my parents left me. We've got an old farmhouse that I keep up for the summers if I manage to get home," he pauses and looks me over in the dark car. "It's going to be good, Anne, I promise. I wouldn't bring you out here if I didn't think it would work, I wouldn't put you in that situation."

"Okay," I answer and exhale a tight breath. 

It's not long after that we pull down a long driveway, the edges lined with a white fence as we come upon a dimly lit house in the distance. I feel my anxiety piquing but force my nerves to settle as we pull off to the side of a beaten up truck. 

"Just be you and I promise they'll love you," Gilbert says, shutting off the engine and looking towards me. I offer him a small smile and nod before we climb out of the car and grab our things.

Gilbert doesn't knock before stepping into the house, calling out for Marilla and Matthew as soon as we're in the entryway. I clutch my hands tighter together, wishing I had my bag to make a run for it as an older man pops his head around the corner. It's not Matthew or Marilla though that catch me off guard, it's the little boy who crashes into Gilbert's side, knocking him off balance as his laughter fills the small space.

"You're here!" Davy exclaims as Gilbert chuckles and crouches down to greet him.

"Hey kid, where's your sister?" Gilbert asks brightly, ruffling Davy's hair.

"I'm here - who's she?" Dora asks from the staircase, her expression guarded. I knew that look well - it was the one I reserved for new placements after the magic of the adventure of it finally wore off. It was a shelter to hide within, a protective shell to keep from getting hurt again.

"Well, I do believe she's Gilbert's friend, ain't she now?" Matthew interjects, stepping into the entry way and reaching for my hand. "It's a right pleasure to meet you, Anne. My name's Matthew. The boy here has shared some stories I'm interested to hear the end to, if you wouldn't mind before you leave."

"Oh, he has, has he?" I croak, shaking his hand and looking around between the faces. It's then that a fourth person steps into view, her hair pulled tightly back from her face and her hands wiping against a cloth apron tied around her waist. She doesn't smile, though she doesn't frown either, and I'm not quite sure what to think as she flicks her gaze to Gilbert and raises her brows slightly.

"Marilla, Dora, Davy, I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine, Anne Shirley. She needed a weekend away after midterms so I thought she could recuperate here with all of you, if that would be alright?" Gilbert asks, his attention focused on the matriarch who clearly steered the household with her stark presence.

"I've not setup the guest room - "

"That's alright, Marilla, she can stay in mine and I'll set it up," Gilbert interrupts and for a moment I think the woman will turn me out, her brow raising as he speaks.

"Very well then. It's always nice to have company in the house. Welcome, Anne," Marilla concedes and the tension in the room eases slightly.

"You could stay in my room!" Davy bursts, bouncing on his toes as Marilla returns to the kitchen and the five of us are left standing in the entryway.

"We'll see. Dora, why don't you help me and Davy show Anne here where everything is so she can relax a bit?" Gilbert urges and I feel Matthew clap a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it slightly before turning back into the living room. 

I'm lead on a rambunctious tour of the house, the kids showing me every nook and cranny with a story for each that would rival even my imaginative powers. When we finally reach Gilbert's room I'm surprised to find it sparse, the space empty but for a bed and workstation tucked in the corner. My bag is unceremoniously dropped on the mattress by Davy who grabs my hand and barely gives me a moment to settle before dragging me down the hall to their shared room. 

"This is where we get to stay while we're here. Marilla says it's our room so we can do what we want to it as long as it stays tidy and we do our chores on time. I wanted to put up a poster for the Jays but Dora said we wouldn't be here long enough so I shouldn't ruin the wall. Do you think she's right? I think we've been here a while so I should be able to put up a poster but I don't want to waste it, you know?" Davy rambles on excitedly, settling himself onto the floor and pulling out a box of Legos. 

"I do know," I answer softly, looking back to the hallway where Gilbert is exciting the guest room and heading towards us. 

"You wanna play with us Miss Anne?" Davy asks brightly then, drawing my attention back to him and Dora as they start construction on some indefinable structure. 

"I'd like that very much," I answer as Gilbert lifts a brow in question. I ease myself onto the floor beside them and Dora hands me two piles of the plastic bits. I take them and look to Gilbert who leans against the door, a soft smile on his lips before he motions back down the hall. I nod and he disappears, leaving me to struggle to assemble something from nothing, the task reverberating in my soul with the irony of it.

Half an hour must pass as we sit and build, Davy showing me how tall he can make a tower before it topples over as Dora putters through building a low-rising maze.

"Gilbert said you lived in a bunch of different places when you were a kid too. Did you put up posters in your rooms?" Davy prods eventually, his attention turned to the task at hand but his frame of mind clearly elsewhere.

"Not really. I didn't really stay in some of the places as long as you two have been with the Cuthbert's. I think you should put some up though," I add and stop short of making promises I had no right to make. If there was one thing I knew, it was that the foster system made no promises and at any moment your stability could be ripped out from beneath your feet. I wouldn't do that to these two, not in a million years.

"Yeah? Maybe I will then. Dora, what do you want to put up?" Davy continues and I feel Gilbert's hand on my shoulder, surprise drawing my attention up from the conversation and nodding his head towards the door. 

"I'll talk to you guys later, okay?" I say as I take the hint and get to my feet. They nod and return to their construction project as I move into the hallway with Gilbert.

"Why don't we head downstairs? Marilla will be up to get them ready for bed soon," Gilbert adds softly.

"Yeah, that sounds good." 

We head downstairs and into the living room just as Marilla reaches the bottom of the stairs, calling up her arrival as she ascends the steps. I can't help but be reminded of one of the old group home matrons I'd had when I was younger, her tight bun and starched shirts flickering in my memory as I settle into a chair near the fire.

"What's troubling you, Anne?" Matthew asks, startling me from where I'm staring into the flames. I look around and find Gilbert gone, sounds from the kitchen giving away his location.

"I'm sorry?" I reply stiffly, a furrow lining my brow.

"Oh well, it just seemed you looked upset is all. Didn't mean no harm by it," he says with a shrug. His expression seems concerned and so I force myself to relax, softening my frown and leaning back in the chair.

"I was just thinking about one of the homes I was in when I was younger and how I would have loved to have been somewhere like this when I was growing up. Davy and Dora seem quite happy here."

"Mmm, I appreciate that but I think we're lucky to have them too. They bring a real light to the house with Gilbert away at school now and even though Marilla runs a tough line, she really shines when she takes care of them."

"I'm sure she does," I answer with a small smile. Matthew chuckles and rubs his hands on his thighs.

"She just takes a bit of warming up, you'll see," Matthew says with a wink. 

We settle back into a comfortable silence as the house around us quiets. Footsteps upstairs begin to soften and the darkness fills in the corners when Gilbert finally brings out a few mugs of steaming liquid.

"Oh, you didn't have to," Matthew murmurs as Gilbert hands him a cup before turning to me with another. 

"No trouble," he responds and sets the third cup on an end table before disappearing again. 

"That boy doesn't stop taking care of everyone he meets, you know," Matthew whispers to me as I smile into my cup.

"I do."

The rest of the evening passes in low conversation, the four of us enjoying the warmth of the fire and the pleasant niceties before I can't help but yawn and feel my eyes droop.

"Ready for bed?" Gilbert asks softly, leaning towards my chair. I look around the room and find Matthew napping and Marilla engrossed in her knitting, the scene comforting in a way I hadn't expected to find upon my arrival here. 

"Yeah, I think all this fresh air is getting to me," I joke and get to my feet. Gilbert follows behind me as we head upstairs, separating at the doors to our rooms. "Thanks Gil," I whisper as I push the door open and look back at him. He only smiles, tilting his head in a nod before stepping into his own room and closing the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long to get out. There was a funeral and now the holidays and just everything has been in a state of flux. Hopefully things should start calming down soon! In the meantime, happy holidays if you celebrate anything and if not, I wish you a wonderful week!


	10. Clearest Indication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearest Indication - Great Big Sea
> 
> *If you haven't heard these guys then you're missing out on some quality East Coast flair

The day is spent in chaotic adventure, the kids warming up even more and pulling me in every direction as they try to show me everything splendid all at once. When lunch rolls around I find myself hiding in the kitchen, staring at a recipe as I try to think of any way I can contribute to the household to make up for them taking me in.

"Can I get you something?" Marilla greets, stepping into the space and setting a bowl of fruit on the counter with a sigh.

"Oh, no. I was going to try to make some cookies but I don't want to get in your way - "

"How about you help me make some plum puffs instead? Famous family recipe, wins at the county fair every year, you know," she adds with what edges on a smile, her harsh exterior fading.

"That would actually be amazing, if you wouldn't mind," I answer and her smile brightens before she sets her hands together and turns to get to work.

We find a synchronicity easily and I can almost imagine myself standing next to her growing up, our hands deep in dough as we ready meals or Sunday afternoon snacks. The want for it pangs in my chest and I try not to let the feeling overtake me as we prepare the mixture for the oven.

"Why don't we get some air while it bakes?" Marilla asks as we slip the last tray into the oven. I nod and she leads us out onto the porch, settling onto a swinging bench that she urges me into beside her. "You know, from what I know about you already from Gilbert, you're not quite what I expected."

"Oh," I pause and try not to frown, worried that my reputation has preceded me. Who did she think I was? A mess? Or worse, someone with their life together who didn't need to hide away at a farm to regain their worldly equilibrium?

"I mean to say that Gilbert tells me you're always talkative and spinning stories. Can't say you've said more than a dozen words since you got here though."

"I haven't really been feeling myself lately, I guess," I mutter and force myself not to cross my arms in defence. How much had Gilbert shared about me? 

"Hm, well, I'm sorry to hear that," she says, turning towards me. "I hope I'm not overstepping here but if it's in any relation to this mess with the university then I dare say I think you best move past it. They can't throw you out for one little mistake - "

"It's not that. Not really, I guess," I interrupt, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. She stills, turning towards me slightly and waits for me to continue. "The mess started because an assignment I was given was about researching my family tree. Being an orphan myself, that isn't really something I wanted to do since my childhood was less than ideal but I didn't have a choice and so I did it but it just… it stirred up a lot of things in my past that I wasn't prepared for with my family history. Now I have to work on the next part of the assignment but I can't find enough research to finish it so I'm stuck again until I figure out what to do. It's stupid really and it's knocked me off my game, so they would say." 

Marilla listens with a steady ear as I ramble on, the weight lifting off of my chest with every word I say aloud. When I finish she leans back and sighs, staring into the field for a drawn out moment.

"That sounds like a challenge I don't envy, Anne. But I'm sure you'll figure something out. Gilbert mentioned last night that you wanted to go to the Island archives while you were here for your project. If you'd like, you're welcome to use our family archives. My mother was a bit of a genealogist before she passed and Matthew kept all her files up in the attic. We're not a famous name but the Cuthbert's have been on the Island since at least the early 1800s," she finishes and I can't help but turn to her, my mouth slightly agape.

"You'd let me do that? Write about your family?" I question, surprise in my voice. The possibility seemed too good to be true, Marilla's offer like an umbrella in the rain. Maybe Gilbert sharing my quest was a good thing after all - it shared my story without the painful recollection of every detail on my end while still getting me results. I couldn't begrudge him for trying to help like Mary and Bash had, not really when this was the possible result.

"I don't see why not. It isn't like you'll be sharing any great secrets with the world. We're a quiet family who's lived here without any waves in the past few decades at least. The only thing I ask is that you let Matthew and I read whatever it is you write. Gilbert says you're quite the author so I'm sure whatever you capture will do us proud."

"That's very kind of him to say. Marilla, I feel like this is too good to be true," I admit, sneaking a glance at her. She turns to me and grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly before getting to her feet.

"A hard life doesn't mean everything is a battle you have to prepare for. Sometimes it just means when the good comes along you have to take hold of it with both hands," she says and steps back into the kitchen.

By the time Gilbert and Matthew return from their work in the barn I'm already two hours into my research of the Cuthbert clan, the documents dating as far back as 1802.

"I didn't mean for the weekend to be a study session," Gilbert quips as he steps around the boxes scattered about his room. I look up from where I sit at his desk, my hair falling into my face as it escapes my bun.

"I didn't either but did you know your family goes back to 1873? At least here on the Island?" I question as he pulls out a change of clothes from his dresser.

"My family?" He asks distractedly, turning back towards me.

"Yep. The Blythes are in this county fair's article. Apparently your orchard was home to the best apple pie in the region," I add with a smile as he moves towards me. Leaning over my shoulder to read the article I try to keep my wits about me as the heady smell of him fills my senses. 

"Well, look at that, I'm of quality stock after all," he murmurs and turns a twisted smile towards me. "Should I leave you to it then?" He whispers as I force my gaze up from where it's settled on his lips. I feel my cheeks burn as he pulls back out of my space, his hand brushing against my shoulder and setting my insides on fire.

"Please. I need to focus on getting as much of this recorded as I can so I can get the report to Stacy on Monday."

"Got it. I'll come get you for dinner, alright?" I nod and he heads out of the room, the sound of the shower turning on next door making my body ache in a way I knew I had to deny. I couldn't want Gilbert like this - I'd already threatened everything that we had by thwarting the rules again and again. Eventually we would break and I wasn't sure we'd find our way back after that.

Turning back to the pages I get lost in my research until night sets in and the smell of a roast drifts up from downstairs. The knock at the door alerts me and I tidy up the space, heading downstairs to join the family as they settle around the dinner table. Afterwards I can't help but escape back to the files, madly scribbling ideas onto paper as I assemble the second part of my project. 

When Sunday rolls around I wake up relaxed for the first time in months, my face tucking in tighter to the pillow and the scent of Gilbert that lingers in the sheets. I can't stop my mind from wandering to thoughts of him, his smile and the way his hands feel when they drift over my skin. I know I shouldn't - that filling my imagination with thoughts of him would only hurt in the end - but I can't help it. He's all around me in this room, in my days here at Green Gables. His kindness permeates my every struggle and I've no idea how I'll move on without him if the wind blows us in opposite directions.

"Miss Anne, lunch is ready," Dora says through the door, her tiny knock barely audible. "Gilbert says you should dress warm today since we're stealing you from your work. Okay?"

"Okay. Thank you Dora," I call back as the mystery of today's adventure takes hold and the remaining touches of the project move down my priority list. I'd made such progress already, I could do with a break today.

Downstairs I find Marilla at the stove as Matthew removes his work boots in the doorway. Davy and Dora are setting the table in a surprisingly controlled manner and Gilbert is nowhere to be found.

"Sleep alright?" Matthew asks as he joins me at the table. He smells of barn and smoke and something comforting that I can't quite place as he leans in for the pot of tea.

"I did, yes. How are you feeling today?" I counter, remembering the way his coughing had rattled the whole house last night. Gilbert had gotten up to see to him I was sure, the two men's voices having carried through the stairwell as they’d moved throughout the main level.

"Oh, you know," he mumbles, offering me a cup before setting the pot back on the table. “It is what it is. At this point I’m just putting one foot in front of the other. The boy helps as best he can but we’re going to have to sell the land before long ‘cause I just can’t keep it up and Marilla’s in no place to manage it either. Such as it is, I guess.” 

“Yes, I can only imagine what it must be like,” I lament and wrap my hand around his, giving a gentle squeeze of support. 

While I didn’t know the details of Matthew’s illness, my brief time at Green Gables had shown me enough to know it was draining everything he had in him. In the morning, Gilbert and him would head out to the barn only for Matthew to return after the first hour to rest. The pattern continued throughout the day - in, out, in - until nighttime rolled around and he spent half the time in coughing fits that echoed against the walls of the house. I could see the worry etched in Marilla and Gilbert’s expressions when he excused himself from the dinner table, their gazes trailing after him as he lumbered towards the living room to fall back asleep. 

_ “Shouldn’t he be in a hospital?” I ask Gilbert late Friday night as we sit reading on opposite ends of the couch, Matthew’s coughing down the hall filling the room for a moment before subsiding.  _

_ “He refuses. Says he doesn’t want to die in a pastel room with machines clicking all around him,” Gilbert responds softly and I can hear the subtle hint of pain in his words, the hopelessness of the situation bleeding through.  _

_ “Is he comfortable at least? Isn’t there something they can do to make him have an easier time of it?” I press. I know it’s useless to try to find a solution to a situation I knew very little about but I couldn’t help but empathize for the man, his fits making my own body ache in exhaustion for him.  _

_ “He’s got all the medications - that’s why he sleeps so much - but he doesn’t want to just sleep until he’s gone. That’s not the kind of man he is.” I nod and let the thought sink in, my heart feeling for the boy at my heels who had to stand by and watch it happen.  _

_ Though I try, I can no more hold in my emotions than I can stop myself from crawling across the small space and wrapping my arms around Gilbert’s shoulders as he lets a few tears escape down his cheeks. We huddle together for a moment before I draw back and press my fingers to his cheeks, rubbing the tears away before lifting his face towards mine as our eyes meet in the low light.  _

_ “Matthew would only be able to do this the way he wants because he knows you’re here and you’ll look after Marilla when it’s all done with. You make this possible, you are giving him back his dignity and control. You, Gil,” I whisper assuredly.  _

_ Gilbert sighs and wraps his hands around my own, dragging them down to his lips where he leaves a kiss before letting them go. “Thank you for saying that. You’ve no idea how much I needed to hear that.”  _

The memory of the other night knocks the breath from my lungs and when I look up I’m startled to find Gilbert staring at me, his expression unreadable as he twists and bends to remove his boots before coming towards the table. 

Lunch is a rousing affair that distracts us from the realities of life, Davy and Dora’s excitement about the mystery trip keeping us all on our toes as we eat and ready for our adventure. When I’m finally dressed for the weather, I head towards the living room where the twins are bouncing around the space and Marilla is attempting to add another layer to their attire. 

“Are you ready for this?” Gilbert asks, sidling up beside me with a wide smile on his face. Gone is the worry from earlier, replaced by a confidence that radiates from him. 

“Where are we going?” I ask as I pull my mitts from my pockets. 

“You’ll see. Alright, are we ready?” He calls to the group and leads us all outside and into the cars. Gilbert and I lead the convoy as we head out of the driveway and down the dirt road, the light spattering of snow covering the fields as the final leaves cling desperately to the trees. 

I don’t realize where we’re heading until we’re upon it, the large sign for the beach making me turn towards Gilbert with a raised brow. “Funny, I don’t believe this is the correct season for this outing,” I chide as he pulls into the empty lot. 

“I know but that’s what makes it better. Nobody is here to bother us, the whole place is ours,” he adds and gets out of the car. 

I follow behind him a few steps as Matthew pulls in beside us, a wide smile on his face as he climbs out of the vehicle. 

“I had a thought but I wasn’t sure,” he calls to Gilbert who gives him a thumbs up from where he’s pulling things out of the trunk. 

The six of us make our way through the low piles of blown snow, past the drifting piles of frozen sand and towards the sound of crashing water along a shore. As we come into sight of the ocean I can’t help but find myself drawn towards it, the loud waves and the cool breeze beckoning me forward until my boots are almost at the water’s edge. 

Who knows how long I stand with my arms crossed and my gaze drawn towards the sea, watching it crash and tumble and remembering the night in Bolingbroke where I’d done the same, unable to turn away from the sight. 

“We’ve started the fire if you’re cold,” Gilbert says as he comes up beside me, his hands tucked deeply in his jacket pockets and his hair rustled from the wind. 

“It’s beautiful here,” I answer softly, trying to shove down the roar of emotions that rumble within me. 

“I thought you would appreciate it. Get some time away from everything. Marilla is planning on taking the kids back for dinner so we can head back then or stick around for a bit,” he adds and then turns towards me. “Come warm up. We’ve got snacks.” 

The afternoon is both the easiest and the most wonderful time I’ve ever spent with someone else’s family, the dynamics and welcoming feeling overtaking me as we play games, explore the sand for sea glass and build our own stories of adventure. When eventually Marilla and Gilbert begin to pack up the car I feel ten times lighter, my soul floating high on happiness as Marilla and Matthew pull out of the lot. 

“Do you want to call it a night?" Gilbert asks as he hovers near his car door, his gaze focused on me.

"Not just yet. I was thinking we could watch the sunset, just for a little while," I offer to his resulting smile.

We head back towards the water with an armful of blankets each, spreading them out along the sand and wrapping them around our shoulders as we settle onto the ground. A comfortable silence spreads between us then, the thrum of the ocean filling the air as the sweet salt blows across my skin. 

"Thank you for bringing me here," I say eventually, shifting to look at him as I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. Overhead the sun dips closer to the horizon and the air cools.

"You're welcome anytime. I think Marilla is even warming up a bit," he chuckles and I can't hide my smile, the comfort of the moment making me feel at ease. 

"Can I tell you that I'm a bit jealous of all this? Is that petty of me?" I admit softly. It had been a niggling feeling that had been growing in my gut, one that I couldn't hold in anymore.

"No, it's not petty. I won't lie and say growing up here was easy - it had its challenges - but I understand what you mean. It could have been a lot worse for me if I didn't have the Cuthberts."

"Sometimes I forget that you understand loss like I do," I pause and look at my hands twisted tightly in the blanket. 

"I have a bit of experience, yeah, but I think mine's different. Everyone's is, I guess."

"How did you get through it? Like, you're still so giving and you love so boldly. I don't know if I can ever do that." 

I can feel his eyes on me, the burn of them against my skin despite the air that makes me shiver. The truth of my vulnerability is laid out bare before us and when he wraps his blanket around my shoulders, leaning his body against mine to share the heat, I don't recoil from the comfort he offers. Instead I lean into it and rest my cheek against his chest as his fingers link with mine.

"You love deeply, Anne. Anyone who knows you can see it - it vibrates out of you like heat from a flame. How you feel right now - how you feel because of everything that's going on - that's not how it'll feel forever. I promise you that. This will pass because of how capable of love you are. You've built your own family even after everything you've been through and they will get you through this."

I can't stop the tears that fill my eyes, the way they slip onto his coat as I curl in closer. Instead I try to focus on his even breaths, the steady way they move in his chest and the beat of his heart. When eventually dark settles in around us I draw myself back and wipe my hands across my cheeks, laughing to myself as he rubs his hand comfortingly across my back.

"You can see so many more stars out here," I mumble after a moment, not quite ready to go back to the car just yet. 

"That's why I like it out here. It's quiet and I get time to think," he answers softly as we look up towards the sky.

"What do you plan to do when you graduate from med school? Do you think you'll move permanently to the mainland?" 

"Probably not, unless it's the only placements I can get. My uncle has a practice here on the Island he's offered when he retires. I think I'd like that, settle down in a small town and just live my life. Do you still want to teach when you graduate?"

"I do, I think," I pause, looking towards him in the low light. Even then his eyes spark, the hazel shifting the longer I look. "I'd like to write too. I have an idea for this assignment that I'm hoping will work out once I get pen to paper…"

"Really?" He exclaims, bumping his shoulder playfully into mine. "I can't wait to read about what's going on in that head of yours."

"Ha ha," I scorn and this time when I meet his gaze there's a joyful light flickering, the smile on his lips wide as he watches me watch him. 

The kiss isn't a surprise, nor is it a move that makes me pull back like I know I should. Instead it's easy, enticing, and the taste of him on my tongue cries out for more and so I lean into him and revel in the way he lifts his fingers to graze against my chin. His touch is light, feathering over my cheek as a soft moan escapes his throat. He doesn't pull back and neither do I, unable to extract myself from his warmth and the want that tangles us together. 

It's a rogue wave that gets us, spilling up the shore and submerging our boots until I have to pull back and jump to my feet. Gilbert follows quickly after, grabbing the blankets from the ground and laughing as he runs a hand through his hair.

I watch as he moves aimlessly for a moment, his mood bright as I drift my fingers over my lips. It felt  _ right _ to kiss him then, like maybe it was meant to be. But my mind refuses to let sleeping dogs lie and in a blink the harsh thoughts surface, the smile slipping from my face as I start walking back towards the car. 

"Anne!" Gilbert calls, jogging up beside me and nearly hopping as the thrill of everything seeps from his pores. "Hey, what's the rush? Anne?" His brightness dims and he reaches out to grab my arm, gently pulling me to a stop as we reach the parking lot. "What's going on? What did I do?"

"I should have told you sooner," I whisper, my eyes trained on the ground. He shifts his feet and I feel him lean closer, his heat reaching out to me.

"Told me what?" 

"I can't do this. I can't be with you like this." The words hang heavy between us, my breath coming in short gasps as I hold my hand over my face. These weren’t the right words but they were the only ones I had and I didn’t know how to make them work properly.

"What does that even mean?" He counters softly and brushes his fingers against the back of my hand before easing it down my face. "What's going on?"

"I can't be the person you need, Gil. You need someone with their life together, who will love you fully and without reservation. I'm not that girl. My baggage is too heavy to hang it on you and so I can't be with you like this. We should just stay frie - "

His hands bracket my face and his lips steal my words, my body stepping back into the side of the car as he wraps me up in his embrace. I nearly lose my footing as his tongue grazes my own, his thumbs tilting my chin up until I've got nowhere left to turn but into him. The blankets fall to the ground and all that exists is him and I, our hearts pressed together as we both struggle to find purchase on one another. 

When eventually we break apart it's with my hands against his chest, my arms slowly extending as I put some space between us. This was not going according to plan. This was not how this conversation was supposed to go.

"You're exactly who I need and want and when you're ready to trust me to know my own mind then you'll see what I'm seeing between us. We've never been  _ just friends _ ," he murmurs as he finally steps back. He bends to grab the discarded fabric and shoves it into the backseat as he walks around the rear of the car. 

Slowly, I climb into the passenger seat and sit in silence as he starts the engine and pulls away from the lot. This was not the ending to the weekend I expected and somehow the home I’d felt earlier has shifted, disintegrating under my feet like sand at the bottom of a lake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, I'm trying to pull the last bits of this together but it's hard right now. Life's a bit topsy turvy and work is insane and causing me angst. I'm trying to balance it and figure it all out but it's taking some time. Please bear with me on this and I hope you enjoy this little piece of bittersweetness.


	11. Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jane - The Barenaked Ladies

The week after returning from the Island I barely have time to think about everything that's happened, my workload blossoming as Professor Stacy accepts my proposal and my end of term projects draw closer. I barely have time to study for finals, let alone write, all the while I try to stomp down the hurt I feel for what I've done to Gilbert.

_ "Thank you for inviting me," I murmur as Gilbert pulls up to the curb out front of Patty's Place. I sneak a glance towards him and watch as he tightens his fists around the steering wheel, the tension in the car thick. _

_ "I need some time, Anne, and I think you do too," he whispers then, the first words he's said that weren't transactional since we left the Island earlier this morning. _

_ "Oh," I stall, holding the handle of the door as I try to think of what to say. _

_ "If we're going to be friends - if that's what you really want and need from me - then I need you to give me a bit of time to sort that out, okay? I still want to be there for you but I need time - " _

_ "It's okay, you don't need to explain it," I interject evenly, despite the way my chest aches with it. He was finally giving up and I couldn't blame him - he was only doing what I asked. “I’m sorry, for everything,” I mumble and open the door abruptly. I’m halfway out when I feel his hand wrap around mine, pulling me back towards him for a moment.  _

_ “Don’t be sorry. You told me this is what you wanted before and I didn’t hear you and kept pushing it. I’m the one that should be sorry, okay?”  _

_ I nod because it’s all I can do, squeezing his hand before reluctantly letting it go and grabbing my bag out of the back.  _

We’d barely talked since that car ride, our slim conversations mere check-ins at this point and I wasn’t sure if that was worse than nothing at all. Twisting in my desk chair, I grip the back of my neck and try to stretch the tension out of my body so I can refocus on the work in front of me. I was ten chapters into my story and I couldn't stop now, the words flowing easily from my mind as I incorporated everything I’d learned about myself and the Cuthberts into a story that filled my waking mind.

* * *

Two more weeks pass. I miss Gilbert like I miss the air, the loss of his presence in my life like a vacuum starving the rooms I live in until the only place I'm comfortable is outside in the cold. 

Tonight is no different and I find myself wandering the streets, my jacket pulled up tight around my ears as the wind howls through the barren trees. On Monday exams would start and these walks would cease, my study schedule already set to put me in the library for more hours in a day than I could possibly be awake. 

Gilbert and I used to study together - we had for every exam season since I came to Redmond - and it seemed foreign to think that this time it would be different. Who was going to watch my stuff while I went for coffee? Worse, who would bring me coffee when I was falling asleep in my pages? I didn’t want to do this without him and I knew it wasn’t just about the partnership he offered - it was about the calming presence he lent, how he would make jokes when I groaned in frustration. He was the person who made everything tolerable. 

I couldn't do it anymore. Stopping at the end of the sidewalk I pull my phone free from its pocket and open up the messenger.

_ Phil's birthday party is tomorrow, are you coming? - 6:48pm _

The dots fill the screen for a moment and then disappear, my hope faltering before they reappear.

_ I'm on the Island, sorry - 6:49pm _

My stomach sinks at his response. Of course he was, that's where he was every weekend now when I asked if he wanted to grab coffee, or go for a walk, or literally do anything to try to salvage our friendship from the pit I’d shoved it into. 

_ Okay - 6:49pm _

I tuck my phone back in my pocket and continue on my walk, pressing myself forward to distract myself from the hurt I couldn't fight off anymore. 

The next day I wake to cloudy skies, the sight of them matching my mood as I turn over in my bed. I knew I had to get up, put the finishing touches on my assignment before the party, but still I pull the blanket up and hide until there's a knock on my door.

"We've got mimosas downstairs," Stella calls softly through the wood. Though we'd come miles together since my last big collapse, she still hesitated when I seemed to be withdrawing into myself. I couldn't blame her but I also didn't know quite how to let her in either.

"I'll be down in a bit," I call back lamely. I lay in bed for another half hour before finally getting up and settling at my desk.

Two hours later and I finally finish my story. It's a tale of a girl at the turn of the century, young like me and alone, adopted into the Cuthbert home after a life of mismatched placements. It feels right to blend the two lives I've learned so much about together, our stories overlapping with possibilities and similarities that I couldn't help but lean into. As I read through the last edit it makes my brain hurt as I try to critique while I read. It isn't easy and I know it needs a second set of eyes, if only to catch the assumptive errors, and so I print off a hardcopy and scratch out a short note on the title page.

_ Gil,  _

_ I hope this makes Marilla and Matthew proud of their history and the life they’ve made. I miss you. _

_ A _

"Where are you going?" Phil calls from the kitchen, her voice bright and her cheeks red from the alcohol. "We're going to party soon!"

"Yes, lovely, I know. I'm just going to drop this off and then I'll be back to help decorate, alright?" I call back as I pull on my boots and coat. Phil disappears back into the kitchen and I escape through the front door, down the street and across the park.

Gilbert's apartment building is easy to sneak into, his neighbours kind enough to let me skip through the locked doors and steal up the staircase without question. Arriving on his floor I pull my story from my bag and smooth out the pages, my hands shaking as I look at his front door.

The last thing I expect as I gather the nerve to slide it through the mailslot is for it to open, my eyes widening as a girl with blonde hair steps out into the hallway. Her hands finish buttoning up her coat and when she turns to me she frowns, her brow hardening.

"May I help you?" She asks sharply as I continue to stare. My mouth moves silently but I can't force myself to say a thing. 

I thought Gilbert was on the Island this weekend. I thought… 

"No," I whisper, my heart sinking.

"Well then if you don't mind," she responds before stepping past me quickly and heading down the stairs in a huff. 

I look down at the crumpled story in my grasp, the note I'd scribbled onto the front. It seemed ridiculous now to think he could miss me too - how could he if he had another girl to warm his bed? Swallowing thickly I tear the cover page off and push the papers through the slot, turning on my heel and taking off down the stairs before he can see me on the retreat.

The whole way home I berate myself for pushing him away, for falling for him, for thinking he could feel for me even when I was unable to give him what he wanted. How had he rebounded so quickly? How had I misread everything so easily? 

Inside Patty's Place I force myself to put on a smile despite every instinct in me telling me to retreat to my room and hide away for the rest of the school year until Gilbert graduates and I'm able to be free of him. 

"You've got mail!" Pris calls as I step into the kitchen and take up the letter from her hands. My stomach sinks as I note the Redmond letterhead, the small envelope almost threatening in its compactness. Inside the single piece of paper outlines the next steps of punishment for my plagiarism, the Dean's signature at the bottom sealing my fate. My scholarship eligibility was under review pending my exams. If I failed, if I missed a box or forgot to dot an I, I could lose my funding and be back to square one.

I didn't need this today. I couldn't deal with this on top of everything else. And so I just refuse to engage. 

Getting lost in the girls isn't hard and when the alcohol starts flowing I don't bother to hold myself back and think through every reason I want to curl up in bed alone. Tonight I would drink and forget everything. I would reset to start Monday fresh and leave this semester behind, to leave my hurt behind. I could do it if I put my mind to it. I could.

A few hours later and I'm tipsy, hovering on the line between sober and drunk as I lean against the hallway wall to keep the world from turning upside down.

"You look like you need to sit down," a familiar voice says, a hand coming to clasp my shoulder and steering me towards the couch in the living room.

I go blindly, settling onto the cushions as another drink is handed to me, my gaze going fuzzy around the edges as I look towards the voice. He's familiar and yet I can't quite place him, his hair not as rampant as I want and his eyes not the shimmering hazel I was so accustomed to now.  _ He wasn't Gilbert _ my brain affirms hazily as I take another sip. 

But he would do. Especially since Gilbert wasn't an option any longer.

"... I said, what are you doing for the holiday break?" He asks again as I turn to face him. The world slows as I look up at him and I feel my head swoop, a grin covering my face as my worries begin to melt away.

"Nothing, blissfully nothing," I mumble in reply. Roy -  _ that's his name! -  _ leans in closer to hear me and his aftershave fogs my brain. He was close enough to feel the heat of him, the suffocating press of his existence into mine.

"That's unfortunate. I always thought you would have a whimsical getaway to some magical island paradise," he whispers into my ear and I feel his hand squeeze my thigh, my own hand dropping down to try to push him back a foot. A mile. I don't want him, I want the touch that feels like home, the magical Island escape that only Gil could offer me. Pushing him away doesn't work and when I look up I see those hazel eyes looking back at me, a furrow in their brow. 

I blink and they're gone, my heart in my throat as I force myself to sit forward despite the way my head spins. Roy swears under his breath and I feel his hand on my arm, pulling me back towards him.

"Come on, Red," he murmurs and I shift until I'm out of his grip and on my feet, stumbling after the tall frame that's disappearing out the front door.

"Anne! Where are you - your coat! Anne!" Stella shouts as I step out onto the porch.

I was chasing ghosts, I realize as I look out on the sidewalk and find it empty. I'd imagined him. I must have. He wasn't here, he was with someone else. Someone better, more dependable. Someone who could love him back.

I was too drunk for this. For anything. And so I go back inside, shrugging Stella off as I climb the stairs and shut myself away in my room, picking up my phone to call the only person I know won't judge me for the state of my being.

"Bash?" I croak when the voice soothes across the line. 

"Darling Anne, what are you doing calling at this hour?" He greets and I can hear the shuffling on the other line, Mary's voice in the background.

"I think I've hit the bottom," I whimper, my tears barely held back as I say it.

"Hun, I'm going to come get you, okay? Where are you?" Mary's voice takes over the line and I exhale a held breath, the relief of her unquestioned support helping stabilize my thoughts.

"I'm at home. I just don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to do this alone."

"No, love, no. You're not alone. We're coming right now, okay? We'll see you soon." The call ends and I take the opportunity to put my things in a bag, shutting up my room to keep the revellers out as I head down to the sidewalk. I send a text to the girls as Bash pulls up to the sidewalk, Mary jumping out of the passenger seat and pulling me into her arms. "Come here," she whispers, drawing me close for a moment before leaning back to look in my eyes. "Let's get you home for the night, we can talk about it in the morning, okay?"

I nod and crawl into the backseat, avoiding making eye contact with either of them as we head back down the road. How could I come back from this? Did I even want to? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am living for the score from the show. It makes me laugh. It makes me mostly cry. I don't want to face a world where there's no AWAE in it... I hate greed :( 
> 
> If you've listened, please let me know what your favs are? I'm hooked on "My Daughter Anne" (part of it is my morning ringtone) and "Goodnight Anne". There's also something spellbinding about "The White Way of Delight" - the way it shifts so easily? Like, when you listen to it, could you not just see yourself swaying to it, letting it move you around a room? I miss the show so much already. 
> 
> Anyways - on the topic of this chapter, I want you all to know that it's always darkest before the dawn and we are approaching dawn soon, so stick with me!


	12. Eanan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eanan - A Tribe Called Red
> 
> *You guys simply must check this band out. Their music is unreal.

I spin and I spin and I spin until I’ve nothing left to give, my stomach empty and my heart broken as I slip under the cool sheets of the guest room in the Lacroix household. The cold shower had helped, soothing my frayed nerves as I stood stock still under the stream of water. But now that I was tucked away, safe and in the quiet, I couldn’t keep myself together. 

The tears drag me into sleep eventually and when I wake I’m not sure what time it is, my head fuzzy as I sit up to lean against the headboard. The sun is high in the sky and my phone is thankfully dead, the charger still at Patty’s Place to give me a reprieve from the messages I knew would surely come from my disappearance. 

A small knock on the door has me turning towards the sound, Mary’s face poking through the crack in the door. “You’re awake then,” she greets, stepping into the room and resting her hands on her hips. 

“I am. Thank you for getting me,” I reply softly before tucking the blankets around my legs. Mary comes to sit at my feet, her hand clasping my ankle and squeezing for a moment before she meets my eyes. 

“You scared us last night. We thought you were doing better after the incident with the school. What happened?” I feel my strength falter and I try to breathe through the feeling, my lungs struggling to take in air as I cover my face. 

“I had a few too many drinks last night and I got a letter from the school telling me I needed to pass my exams or I’d lose my scholarship,” I start. 

“That’s not news to you though - that was always a condition of your scholarship, Anne,” Mary interjects, causing me to look up at her with surprise. She  _ was _ right, that wasn’t new. Had I just been hypersensitive to it after everything that had happened? Had I just been spinning so out of control that I hadn’t processed it correctly? “Tell me what’s actually got you like this. It’s not just the assignment anymore. What’s going on?” 

I knew what it was that had me so fucked up and I could barely get the words past my lips, my heart skipping as I remembered the way I’d felt - like my world was crashing down around me - as I’d imagined Gilbert judging me at the party. He’d been like a mirror to my self-destruction, forcing me to re-evaluate myself as the alcohol and Roy’s hands had made me feel cheap and unwanted. 

“I ruined things with Gilbert,” I whisper, my fingers clenched around the blanket’s edges. 

“What does that mean? I didn’t think you two were together?” Mary presses and I sigh, shaking my head as I look towards her. 

“We weren’t. At least I wouldn’t let us be. I kept putting up these walls but he would tear them down and I would give in because I didn’t want to just be his friend and it made it so messy and he took me out to meet his family and it was everything I needed to reset but I ruined it and now he barely talks to me and he’s with someone else and I regret everything. I was so stupid Mary,” I gasp as the rambling stops, my words drying up in my mouth. I had been  _ so stupid _ to keep pushing him away - why hadn't I been able to see that then?

“I’m sure you weren’t stupid. Perhaps a little misguided but surely not stupid. I don’t think that’s a capacity you have,” Mary states as she eases herself up beside me. She lifts her arm to wrap around my shoulder, pulling me close to her side as she rests her cheek on my head. “Have you told Gilbert how you actually feel? Without all of the complications?” 

“The last thing we really talked about was how I just wanted to be friends and how he needed space and now… I can’t ruin his chance at happiness by telling him now. It’s too late.” 

“Hmm,” she pauses and looks towards me. “Maybe it is. But maybe not. If you really do feel something for him I think you should tell him. He’s able to make his own choices but only if he has all the info, you know?” 

“I know,” I mumble, hating how logical she could be. I knew what she was saying was true and yet I couldn’t make myself do it, too scared of what could happen if he said no. Or worse, if he said  _ yes _ . 

There’s a drawn out silence that spreads between us then as Mary runs her fingers through my disheveled hair, soothing me as I try to calm myself from all the emotions whipping around inside of me. It feels safe here, in this house, with these people, in the quiet that fills the room. I knew eventually I would have to go back to Patty’s Place, face the girls and their questions and start studying for my exams, but in this moment all I wanted was to sit here like this, warm and protected. 

“I think you should try counselling again,” Mary says after a while, her words stirring something in me. “I know this whole assignment has tilted you on your axis and that it’s hard, but I’m not sure you’ve dealt with a lot of the things that have held you back before and I don’t want you to miss out on things that you love because you’re still struggling with the cards you’ve been dealt. 

“When I first met Bash I did something similar to what you’ve done with Gilbert - I kept him at arm’s length until one day he found a way in when I was hurting. He said to me:  _ Mary, if you don’t heal what’s hurt you, then you ain’t ever gonna stop bleeding on those who didn’t cut you _ . It was a wakeup call. If I didn’t fix myself then I’d keep messing up what I had with those who had no part in breaking me and he was right.” 

“I don’t know if I can even be fixed,” I whisper harshly, covering my face. “Every time I think I’ve got things under control something small comes along and messes it all up again.” 

“You have to think of yourself like wagon, not a wheelbarrow. You’ve got four wheels and if one of them is flat you’re more likely to tip. But if they’re all pumped up enough then you can handle the bumps. A wheelbarrow on the other hand is so damn finicky that anything can tip it at any time - especially if the wheel is flat - you’re not a wheelbarrow. You can handle most things but sometimes one of your wheels gets flat and you just need to learn how to pump it back up.”

“That was some real farming shit, Mary,” I laugh, letting her words sink in for a moment. 

“I know, but it’s right,” she pauses and grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly. “Let’s find you someone with an air pump, alright?” 

“Alright.” 

* * *

Exams pass in a blur as I keep my head down and focus, unwilling to distract myself and lose the opportunity to stay at Redmond. By the time they end I’m exhausted but thankful that I’m finished, my shoulders finally able to relax as I settle into bed at night. 

It’s on the last day before break that I finally get up the courage to reach out to Gilbert again, my therapist having told me it was the first step to get closure. If he wasn't going to contact me to sort this out then I had to do it myself, if only to understand where we stood. I try to convince myself for an hour on how best to do it, my fingers hesitating over the letters on my phone as I try to type out my message. 

_ How are you? _

_ How did exams go? _

_ Do you hate me? _

_ I miss you. _

I send none of them, nothing sounding quite right as I set the phone down and go down to the kitchen. The small space is covered with trays full of Christmas baking, Phil having decided before she leaves for the holidays to give each of us a tin of cookies to remember her by over the next few weeks. 

“Are you here to help?” She asks, standing up from where she’s crouching next to the oven, watching something rise through the window. 

“I guess I am,” I answer and look at what still needs to be done. She sets me to the task of assembling the tins, her instructions clear as she continues her mixing. 

We fall into easy conversation after that, her mood bright as she explains her plans for the break and how her family has scheduled a skiing trip in the mountains that she intends to spend living at the chalet. 

“It really will be a chance to finally relax. I need it after this semester, if you can imagine! How about you?” She asks as she finally takes a breath, her gaze flickering up to me as I try to close one of the lids. 

“Oh, I’ll be here. The Lacroix’s are hosting Christmas dinner so I have that to look forward to, but otherwise I think I’ll catch up on my reading and take it easy. Worst case scenario I’ll spend it packing if my marks aren’t enough,” I add evenly to her scoff. 

“Come on, your marks will be fine so don’t even think about it. How about Gilbert? Are you going out to the funeral?” I feel her words like a hot poker, my eyes snapping up to her as she continues stirring as though the world hadn’t just shifted below my feet.

“What funeral?” I ask, mouth drying as I realize just how out of sync I was with everything. 

“You didn’t know?” Phil counters and stills her movements, catching my surprised expression and frowning. “Anne, Matthew died a few days ago. Gilbert had to write his exams early to go home for it. He didn’t tell you?” 

I shake my head and set down the tin I’m working on, getting to my feet and trying to steady myself as I brush my hands against my pants. I needed to go. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, not after this news. And so I steal up the stairs and check my messages, finding no trace of this. Gilbert hadn’t told me. Maybe he didn’t think I cared. Maybe he figured it was best to leave me be or worse, he didn't want me around. 

But I  _ did  _ care. And I didn’t want to not be there for them. For Marilla and the kids. For Gilbert. 

It's just… I couldn't just show up at Green Gables and expect open arms. We didn't have that yet. We hadn't had time. And so I do what I know is the only thing I can do, I open my laptop and start looking for information. When. Where. What hotel I could stay at before heading back to Halifax if I needed to stay the night.

I wasn't going to ambush them but I was damn well going to pay my respects to a lovely man who treated me like kin and more importantly, gave my friend a loving home to go to when he'd lost everything like me.

* * *

I arrive at the funeral markedly late, tucking myself into the back pew and trying my best to blend into the bench as I look at the few mourners huddled near the front. While I hadn't expected a crowd like the naming of a cardinal, I also hadn't expected so few people to be in attendance and so I stick out like a sore thumb, desperately trying to figure out how I can blend in before I'm spotted.

It doesn't work.

I'm noticed easily when first a buxom woman gets up to the pulpit, singling me out and calling me forward into the crowd. I wave my hand as though to stave her off but she only scolds me for it, refusing to continue on until I scurry to the forward pews and seat myself in the corner for a quick escape.

Keeping my head down only works so long and when I look up as the reverend moves to start his prayer I can't avoid Gilbert's gaze, his expression tight. I lift my hand in a reluctant hello before turning my attention back to the front.

Though I don't meet his eyes again, I feel his glare burning into my skin like a brand, flickering back and forth to me as we move through the service. I try to make myself smaller, to hide from how he clearly didn't want me here, but it's unavoidable when he gets to his feet and makes his way to the pulpit.

Clearing his throat I hear him shuffle against the mic, my heart shattering in my chest as his voice cracks on the first word. I can't avoid him anymore. I can't make myself do it, to give him space, because if he were me and I were him he'd fight through my walls to support me. And so I don't avoid him anymore, lifting my gaze to find him staring back at me with tears in his eyes. I can no more freeze him out than I can hold my own tears at bay, my hand lifting to cover my heart as a sign of support as he tries to start again.

It must help, somehow, and Gilbert manages to deliver a eulogy that makes my chest ache and my heart warm with love for the family he's made.

When the service ends not long after, I debate getting into my rental and disappearing from the Island, escaping back to the safety of the mainland where I didn't have to confront Gilbert and likely his new girlfriend. I don't get far in my plan though because not five steps out of the front of the church I'm captured around the hips by Davy, his arms wrapping tight around me and stopping me in my tracks.

"You're here!" He exclaims into my jacket, his little fists tightening in the ends of my scarf.

"Yes, I wanted to say goodbye to Matthew," I reply lowly and crouch down until we're eye level. Dora stands off to the side, watching me with tear-reddened eyes until I open my arm to let her crash into my side. Together we huddle at the entrance to the church, a unit clutching tightly to one another as a few more tears escape. "You'll be alright," I say assuredly, leaning back after a moment.

"Marilla says I get to be the man of the house now," Davy murmurs eventually. I chuckle and squeeze his shoulder.

"Those are some big boots to fill, but I'm sure you can do it," I reply. 

"I think so too but Gilbert keeps telling Marilla he's going to move back to help and they argue about it a lot," Davy adds in a whisper, his eyes skirting around us quickly. 

"Marilla says he can't quit school," Dora confirms. 

Their words make me swallow thickly, my eyes for the first time that day scanning the crowd pointedly to find him. He stands near Marilla's side, talking with the woman from the pulpit who pulls Marilla into a hug as he spares a glance in my direction. 

"Do you think Marilla will let us stay now, Miss Anne?" Dora asks quietly, breaking my attention from him and turning me back to face her with a softened expression.

"Oh darling, I don't know for sure but I do know that Marilla cares for you deeply, just as Gilbert does," I try to ease her fears, knowing that I couldn't promise anything but making a note to tell Gilbert about their worries. It was the least I could do to ease the uncertainty and anxiety that was probably running high in the house.

"And who, my dear, is this?" The woman who forced me into the front pews greets loudly as she steps to my side, Marilla and Gilbert walking slowly towards us. 

"This is Miss Anne, Mrs Lynde. She came to visit us with Gilbert a few weeks ago," Davy replies.

"Ah, so this is the girl our dear doctor has been moping around about! Well, I'm Mrs Rachel Lynde, and may I say you really should never sit alone at a funeral dear, it gives off such a wrong impression to the attendees," Rachel continues and I have to swallow my retort, the amount of items to address in that spill of words leaving me silenced.

"Leave her be, Rachel," Marilla scolds, looking over at me with a solemn expression. "It's good to see you again, Anne, though I would have preferred under different circumstances."

"As would I," I respond and flicker my gaze to Gilbert. He shifts on his feet slightly and I half expect him to walk away right then, his expression unreadable. "I guess I should be on my way now though, I hope to make it home before the snow hits this evening. I'm really sorry about Matthew, he was a wonderful man."

"I'm sorry to hear that. We were just about to head home for the wake, if you wished to join us," Marilla continues and I shake my head, twisting my hands together.

"I really shouldn't," I mumble even though all I want is to go back to where I felt like I was home, where Gilbert would be with his gentle understanding and - No. I had to break out of this thought now before I got too entangled.

"Will you come back to see us again?" Dora asks as I pull my coat around me and turn for the exit.

"I'll try," I answer and quickly look up towards Gilbert whose teeth are clenched so tightly his jaw muscles twitch. 

I bid my goodbyes and turn away from the group, walking steadily until I reach the parking lot and then picking up my pace to get as far away from the crushing rejection as I can. I hadn't expected to feel like this, not really. In my mind I'd thought I'd come to the funeral, pay my respects and escape unnoticed, but I should have known that was too good to be true. Gilbert hadn't said a word to me and I felt it in my heart like a bullet. I was wounded, fighting off my instinct to cry as I clumsily turn the key in the ignition and throw my bag in the back.

I make it back to the ferry in record time only to discover it's shut down due to the storm for the rest of the day, the frustration bursting out of me in a strangled shout. Reaching back for my bag I pull loose my phone and glower at the screen. Two missed calls from Gilbert and a voicemail to boot. He was probably calling to chew me out for just showing up unannounced. 

Silencing the notification, I turn on my navigator app and begin the trek to Confederation Bridge, the extended trip in the opposite direction souring my mood further.

When I arrive at the bridge not long after, I join the toll line of waiting cars and turn my music up louder to try to knock the thoughts clear from my mind. My therapist had told me to try to frame things positively, to look at the possibilities that arose from moments of stress, but in this moment all I could think about was how I'd screwed everything up so badly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, I've finished it, I think! A few final edits but we have the ending completed which means I should be able to post more regularly now! 17 chapters - two more than you signed on for! This should be the last dark one and then it's up up up!


	13. Bobcaygeon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobcaygeon - The Tragically Hip

"Anne!" The call of my name and the banging of a fist on my window startles me, my head swivelling to see the current cause of my distress standing bundled up in the snow outside my car window. Surprise shivers through me as he runs around the front of my vehicle and pulls open the passenger door, slipping into the seat beside me in a rush of flurries and cold air.

"What are you doing?" I ask sharply, my eyes wide as he pulls down his scarf. Had he chased me here to chastise me? Was he that angry?

"I could ask you the same thing," he counters and where I expect anger there's only a quiet question in his voice, his eyes wide as he looks me over with reddened cheeks.

"I wanted to pay my respects. I tried to keep out of your way but Rachel didn't let that happen, I'm sorry," I blurt as he shakes his head. Was that a smile peeking from the corners of his lips? What exactly was going on here?

"That's not - I'm not mad. I'm surprised. I didn't think he meant that much to you and I guess I didn’t tell you because I wasn't sure you would come, and well, I didn't think I could handle that on top of everything else going on - " He adds quickly, breathless from the rush.

"He was nice to me when I needed it and more importantly, he helped  _ you _ when you needed it. That's all I need to know to judge someone," I murmur as I try to stem the confusion. How had he even found me?

"So you came all the way out here in a snowstorm to attend a funeral for someone you barely knew - "

"In my defence, it wasn't snowing when I came out," I interject hotly. “Besides, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black since  _ you’re _ here, chasing me down in said snowstorm? How did you even find me?” 

"Fair counter point," he pauses and looks around us, at the slowly moving trail of cars now almost at a standstill. "It’s not a big island - there’s three ways off it and I knew the ferry was going to be out of service just by looking at the sky so I made an informed gamble on the driving route. Speaking of snowstorms though, the bridge is closed because of an accident which is how I managed to find you before you got across. Do you want to get a coffee and wait it out?"

"I thought you were mad at me, for showing up," I state, shifting in my seat. It seemed important to talk it through now, before I grew any hope to rest on.

"Not in the least. Confused, maybe, but I'm starting to think it's better if you and I just talk this out. What do you say?" 

My nerves spark as I give in, steering out of the line and pulling into a spot near one of the tourist shops. We climb out of the car and head inside, settling with our coffees near the rear as more and more bodies begin to fill the small space with the news of the bridge closing. The first moments are tense, our hands wrapped tightly around our mugs as we avoid looking at one another in the increasingly bustling noise. 

"I got your story," he starts, pausing to catch my eye as I look up at him. "It was so good, Anne. I thought it would be weird, seeing myself in print like that, but you made it seem so real that I felt like you'd actually slapped me with your slate that one time. Matthew near fell out of his chair when I read that part to him. I gave it to Marilla too and she couldn't put it down."

"So you're not mad about the story?" I relax slightly, soothed by the idea that Matthew had had a chance to read my story before he passed. At least  _ that _ had been something to hold onto. 

"No! Not a chance." 

I breathe a sigh of relief as he looks at me, a question held back behind his lips. The way he looks at me is curious, hesitant, and with a little trepidation as I try to formulate the questions I so wanted answers to.

"Can I ask you something?" He says eventually as the silence drags out. I nod and take a sip of my drink to stop my mouth from spilling words all over the table. "Are you dating Roy Gardner?"

I look at him, stricken, my heart in my throat preventing any sounds from escaping. Was I dating  _ Roy _ ? Where did he get that impression? Why did he care if he had a girlfriend of his own?

"I've never dated Roy and I don't plan to. I told you I wasn't able to commit to anyone and I thought you'd moved on because of it - "

"Moved on?" He interrupts, his brows lifting in surprise. "What?"

"When I brought over the story there was a girl coming out of your apartment - "

"A girl?"

"Blonde hair? Beautiful?" I croak as his expression shifts to one of understanding. "You told me you were on the Island that day, Gil."

"I was - I didn’t lie about being in Avonlea. But the girl - that was Winnie Rose, she's in the tutoring program with me. I borrowed one of her books and she was coming to pick it up for one of her courses. There is nothing - and never will be - anything between us - "

"But she was in your apartment while you were out of town!" I lament miserably. Surely I was digging myself a deeper grave with every word that fell out of me. 

"I wasn't out of town then. Yes, I was on the Island when you texted but I changed my mind and came back early for Phil's party. I wanted to talk to you because of everything that was happening here, and with us, but when I got to Patty’s Place you were pretty cosy with Roy and so I decided it best to just… Avoid everything. I didn't think you noticed me," he trails off, twisting his fingers together at the memory.

“Oh,” I still, swallowing thickly before taking another sip of my drink to give me time to consider my words. “I did see you, I think, I even ran out after you but you were already gone… I was having a hard time that night. I got a letter from the school and I was convinced you were with someone else and so I had a few more drinks then I should have and it just became this huge mess of a night. But Roy isn't part of the equation - he's just opportunistic slime. There's nothing between us.” 

His brow furrows at my admission, the truth of my jealousy not hard to tease out from between the lines. I thought he was with someone else and I dealt with that feeling by drinking, desperate to hide the way it had made me feel. But now as I look at him I see the myriad of things he’s dealing with, the echoes of sadness in his expression that he tries to cover with anything but the haunting reason we’re both here. 

I hadn’t thought about how Matthew’s illness had been eating away at him - not before, not really anyways. At the time I could barely see outside of my own hurt and so maybe I’d misunderstood all this time, maybe I’d pushed him away when he had only been trying to escape his own pain by burrowing into me. Maybe we'd both been using each other to find something stable in moments of upheaval. I hadn’t been his friend, not when he needed me the most, but now I had the chance to change that. 

I go to him then, climbing onto the couchette beside him and hovering just out of reach. I longed to pull him to me, to hold him as that stoic mask fell, but I needed him to let me back in and give me a chance to right everything. To let me be the ear that I hadn’t been able to be before. 

“I’m seeing a therapist,” I blurt as his eyes scour mine, his brows lifting in surprise as I shift and look away. I couldn’t fathom why  _ that _ was the first thing to admit as I try to keep myself at a distance from him. 

“Is it helping?” He counters softly, reaching for my hand and enveloping it with his own. The simple connection makes the world seem to tilt back to rightside up, his warmth filling my senses. Why was it always like this with him? Like the final pieces would best fit together when we were on the same page?

“I’ve only been a few times but I think it might be. And I don’t say this because I want to overshadow what you’re going through now and make this all about me or anything because that’s not what I want. I just - I know I’ve been difficult lately to get a handle on and I’ve felt like I haven’t been fair to you. I say that because I want you to know that I recognize how much you’ve given of yourself to me, even with everything else going on, and I want to be there for you now if you’ll let me. I can be your friend. Maybe more. I don’t know yet but maybe you were right that day at the beach. We’ve never just been friends and I was being ridiculous to think that’s all we were… I’m rambling and I’m sorry. Just… Gil, I want to be who you call when it gets to be too much. I want to be that person you talk to when things are rough or hell, even if they’re not. I want to be your person. I don’t want to just be your friend. We’re not friends. We’re - we are so much more than that.” 

The words rush out of me in a frantic mess, my heart beating nearly out of my chest as I chance a glance towards him. His mouth twists into a smile, almost as if he didn’t quite grasp what I was trying to tell him. So I do the other thing I know might work to convince him - I lean in until my palm is pressed to his cheek, my lips hovering just an inch from his as I wait for him to close the last bit of distance. 

He does and it’s like my whole being relaxes into him, the kiss slow and searching and building into a desperate clamour of hands and mouths and bodies wanting to be closer. But we can’t. Not here. Not just yet. And so we break apart - heaving breaths and all - and stare at each other with wide eyes as though we’re seeing one another for the first time, broken bits and all. 

“Come back to Avonlea tonight. Don’t go back to Halifax, please. I don’t want to face the rest of this without you,” he whispers desperately and it’s only then I see the mask lift and the hurt swirling below the surface, the chaotic mess of feelings that course through him under his carefully placed veil. 

We drive back to Avonlea together, Gilbert in the passenger seat as I make my way slowly through the thickly falling snow. The car hovers in a fog of silence, heavy with the truth of what awaits us at the farm. An empty room, a lonely chair. A silent evening without a coughing fit to fill the quiet of the house. 

“I didn’t realize how much this would affect me,” he whispers as we pull into the driveway, his face shadowed in the low light. “I thought because I’d seen it happening so slowly that it would be easy. I expected it and it would be over. But I just feel this empty hole where he should be. When I go out to the barn in the morning I keep expecting to see him crouched under one of the cows or leaning against the bales of hay but he’s not there. He’s gone.” 

“Gil,” I murmur as we pull to a stop and I put the car in park. I reach over and grab his hand in mine, the gentle expression of comfort that he’d always provided a mere wisp of what he deserved. 

“Why does everyone I belong to go away?" He asks and it's so broken, so painful, that tears prick at my eyes and all I want is to hold him close to me. 

"You belong with me and I'm here. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I promise,” I say knowing full and well that promises in my world meant something. 

We sit in the quiet for another few moments, just long enough to let him swallow his tears and rub his face clear of the pain. When we step out of the car later we do it together, my fingers linking with his as we head towards the door of Green Gables. Inside there’s a bark of laughter, shouts of surprise from the kids, and low music playing as Rachel greets us with open arms. 

“I knew you were more than just an odd duck,” she whispers into my ear as Marilla pulls Gilbert into a tight hug beside us. I watch with a soft smile as she says something lowly in his ear, leaning back and pressing her palm against his cheek. 

Davy and Dora start to putter around the house as a few other friends of the family join us for introductions. The mood is brighter than I expect, the wake more lively than the morose gatherings I'd seen in the past and we're easily drawn into the conversation and the memories people share loudly across the room. 

It's late when the crowd finally starts to disperse, Rachel eventually getting ready to leave after helping me tidy up the kitchen as Gilbert and Marilla bid their goodbyes to the others. 

"It was lovely to meet you, Anne. Don't be a stranger," Rachel says as she bundles up in her hat and scarf. "And don't break that boy's heart. He's of different sorts when you're around, I'm sure."

"I'm not - "

"No, no. I won't hear it," she insists and chuckles to herself, leaving me stunned in the kitchen as she passes Gilbert to say goodbye to Marilla in the front room.

"You look like you've just had a good talk with Rachel, resident truthsayer," Gilbert greets, easing his hip against the table next to mine. 

"She is a force, I'll give her that," I answer and spare a glance towards him. He looks tired, the scruff in full force along his chin and dark circles under his eyes. "How are you doing?" 

He shrugs and rubs his eyes, sighing with the weight of the day. "Truthfully? I just want to go to bed and not think about anything for a while."

I remember the last time _ that _ instinct came over me and I can't help the blush that creeps up my neck, the kiss from earlier in the coffee shop flashing in my mind. Now was not the time for this line of thinking. Not at all. 

"If you want to go, I can stay down here and finish cleaning up. It's no trouble," I urge when he looks at me with a pensive gaze.

"You don't have to do that," he murmurs, resting his hand over mine and giving a gentle squeeze. 

Beyond us in the house I hear Marilla steering the twins upstairs, their raucous noise dissipating with every step further they go. Soon we're alone, standing in the kitchen and staring at one another, questions surely gathering with every drawn breath.  _ Are you okay? What do you need? Is it me? Do you want to get lost in me like I want to get lost in you? _

"Anyways," he whispers eventually, breaking out of our spell before lifting a palm to my cheek. I tuck myself into it, easing forward until my arms reach up and around his neck. 

In my mind it had only been a hug I was reaching for, my arms tightening around him as he wraps his own around my hips. My body has other ideas though and I drift up onto my toes, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips as he tightens his grip. With his fingers biting into my back, I break away and feel his breath on my lips, his heart racing in his chest as I give in to my wants.

"You should go get some rest. I'll get some sleep in a little while," I bid and force myself down and away from him, putting some much needed distance between us before I jump his bones right here in the kitchen. I wanted to distract him from his hurt so badly that I was willing to throw caution to the wind, my old habits resurfacing in a blink. But if I looked closer it wasn't just that - I wanted to be with him, to hold him and never let him go after these weeks with such distance between us. I wanted to keep him from going to the dark places I knew so well now. 

“Alright. I’m going,” he whispers finally from behind me, his heat disappearing and leaving me cold as he heads towards the staircase. 

I turn my attention back to tidying up the main level, finishing the few dishes and covering the plates of food that remain. I’m just about to start wiping down all of the surfaces when I look up and find Marilla hovering in a door off the kitchen, her hand grasping tightly to the frame. 

“Marilla?” I question softly, not wanting to startle her. She looks back at me with tears in her eyes, the stoic figure I know shifting in the low light. 

“He was never much for talking but it’s even quieter here without him,” she says before leaning into the room and pulling the door shut. Her palm rests on the wood for a moment before she exhales and stands up more fully, her steadiness coming back in full force. 

“I’m sure it is,” I offer because it’s all I can manage as she enters the kitchen. “If you’d like, you can head to bed too and I’ll finish cleaning up down here. It’s almost done - “ 

“I couldn’t sleep if I tried,” Marilla sighs and grabs a rag from the sink to start wiping the counters. We turn our attention to cleaning together in silence, the settling of the house around us the only noise that fills the space as we move from room to room. 

Later, as we sit at the kitchen table with a pot of tea, I find myself wondering how they'll continue on with this place. Marilla seemed more than capable of keeping a house running, but a full farm was another thing altogether. Davy and Dora's concerns from earlier come back and settle in my mind, my fingers tightening around my cup.

"Marilla," I start, watching as she slowly turns her gaze to me. "What'll happen to Green Gables now, do you know?"

"Well, that is a loaded question indeed," she replies, sitting up straighter in her seat. "I guess it all depends. I'd like to sell parts of it to the neighbours, use the money to help the kids with school when the time comes or even Gilbert with medical school if he needs it. But Gilbert is reluctant to let it go just yet. I guess you've heard the saga he has in that head of his right now?" I shake my head as she smiles and does the same. "Right, well, he's got this wild notion that he'll take the rest of the year off and come work the land until the next harvest at least."

"He's only got the one semester left," I murmur. Marilla chuckles and nods, lifting her cup.

"I'm fully aware. It's quite possibly the most foolish plan he's ever managed to come up with, short of the time he nailed a girl's braid to a post in grade school," she sighs, looking down at her drink. "But he's also got a lot of ties to this land. He's kept not only Green Gables up and running but his orchard too. Lord only knows what he's thinking of doing with all that property and a medical degree…"

"He probably thinks he can be in two places at once. He always did tell me how much he loved Hermione's time turner in Harry Potter," I lament, managing to picture him in my head, debating with me that it was the most powerful tool in the series. 

"Sounds like the boy I know. He’s always had a bit of a starry eyed look when he didn’t think anyone was paying attention, though I haven’t seen it much lately until, at least, he brought you home. Anyways, I guess it's time I try to turn in so I can get a few hours before Davy is up wanting to milk the cows," she adds and gets to her feet. For a moment she stills, looking at me with a soft gaze, before she steps closer and squeezes my shoulder gently. "Thank you for coming today. I know it meant the world to him to see you."

She doesn't give me a chance to reply before turning on her heel and heading pointedly towards the stairs. I sit alone in the quiet of the kitchen for another few moments before sighing and getting to my feet. I was still restless, my mind unwilling to settle, and so in a rush of insanity I get to my feet and grab my coat from the closet. 

The world outside the house is bright in the moon's light, the snow having slowed it's onslaught and the sky having opened to endless constellations twinkling above, the clouds parting to reveal them one star at a time. Peace finally surrounds me as I look up, searching the heavens for the solace this farm will need in the coming weeks. Matthew is up there, I'm sure of it, and he'll do what he can to help as he watches over his family.

Eventually the cold sinks into my bones and I retreat back into the safety of the house, stealing my way upstairs and towards the bedroom I hope is the right one, a 50/50 shot at getting it right.

I’m wrong. 

Poking my head through the door I catch sight of Gilbert pulling off his boots, his hair mussed as he glances sleepily up at me with red-rimmed eyes.

"What are you doing?" I hiss, confused at his half state of dress.

"I heard the door and your boots and I thought maybe you were leaving or -"

"No, hush, no," I reassure, closing his bedroom door behind me and coming to sit beside him on the bed. "I just needed some fresh air is all." 

Taking my hands in his own he murmurs something about my cold skin, his cheek leaning to rest against my shoulder as he sighs. "I'm glad you're still here," he whispers.

"I'm glad I am too. Come on now. Let's rest a bit," I add and ease us back to stretch out along the mattress, his tall frame almost hanging off the end as I brush my fingers against his brow.

Though we both know nothing will happen tonight, in his bed at Green Gables with Marilla and the twins down the hall, I don't hold back when his knuckles drag across my chin, pulling me down to meet his lips with mine. There's a comfort in his touch, in mine, as we curl into one another and find the comfort we both seek in our time of loss. He holds me close, threading his fingers through my mess of hair as my tongue dips and steals the taste of him. 

There's no hesitation, no holding back as we give and take from one another. When he eases me onto my back, I go, cradling his frame with mine and blissfully feeling all of him against me. Lips drag across skin, breath ghosts over tender spots and leaves shivers in its wake. 

We settle with our legs entwined, our limbs linked together on the narrow mattress as our breathing slows. I wanted more of him, all of him, but this wasn't the place or time and so we both pull ourselves back, trying to calm our hearts as our bodies scream out for more - more of each other, more distraction, just  _ more _ . 

Tears come to him then in the silence of the night and I hold him closer, praying for relief as he tries to breathe through the hurt coursing through him. He’s restless with the pain of the day, desperate to escape its weight but finding no way out. I know this feeling - it was like the ocean I’d faced not so long ago pulling and crashing against you again and again. I could do nothing to protect him from it - all I could do was hold him until the tide went back out once more. Eventually sleep overtakes us like a sandman savior sprinkling dust overhead, dragging us into rest that promises us the first real comfort we've had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late! I've been running behind all day and my schedule was unnecessarily jam packed and just - UGH. Hopefully this makes up for it. Our sweets are reunited and bonds are repaired.


	14. Carry On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carry On - Cœur de Pirate

Morning comes and I find myself in bed alone, my body spread out and my mind imagining that last night had been a dream. Had it? Had I made up Gilbert's heat surrounding me, tucking me in close to him as he linked his fingers with mine?

I didn't think I did and the idea is only confirmed when I see the set of pyjamas at the end of the mattress, my heart racing as I realized we'd shared the bed all night. 

Shifting, I press my face deeper into the pillow and relish the scent of him on the sheets. I miss him even now, out of my immediate reach, and the need for him only grows the longer I sit still. But like a siren call through the walls of the house I'm surprised when the door to the room opens and someone slips carefully inside. 

I pretend to be asleep in the event it's Marilla, unwilling to confront the potential issue of my place in her son's bed. There's a rustling and then two boots drop to the floor, quiet steps moving along the creaking wood before the blanket is lifted and cold feet slide down the back of my legs.

"Brrr," I whisper as his torso slides in behind me, tucking close. 

"I thought you were asleep," he chuckles softly, reaching a hand to my side and playfully slipping his icy fingers along the skin of my hip. I twist to get away, laughing softly as he traps me to him and I give in to his touch.

"Alright, alright, I'll be your heater this morning!" I groan and try to contain my shivers as he curls around me like I’m a hot water bottle on a cold night. "How did you get so chilled already?" I wonder aloud as his nose bumps mine, our faces close as we share a breath. His lips graze against my cheek, trailing to my ear and causing my body to alight as they go. 

"Morning chores. Had to get up before Davy walked in here and woke you up," he answers easily as his teeth pull at my earlobe. "Don't worry though, I'll have us warmed up in a minute," he says and continues his ministrations along my skin.

He's right, my body near on fire as he traces a vein down my neck to meet my collarbone before advancing across the expanse of my chest. When he comes back up for air I rest my hands on his shoulders and ease him onto his back, crawling atop him as he lets a small noise of exclamation escape. My hips shift and hover, my knees tightening their press against his ribs as his fingers bite into my waist.

"I'm just warming you up," I whisper playfully, leaning down to capture his lips with mine. I feel him hardening between my legs and I want so badly to feel him closer, to have him inside and all around me, but I know we can't. And so I sigh, easing the tension from my body before I stretch out along his frame. His soft groan in my ear as the heat of me moves over him reminds me of the sounds he’d made that first time, how I’d nearly come apart just listening to them. I missed that feeling. I’d missed  _ him _ . 

Time ceases to exist as the low morning light creeps through the window, our bodies exploring one another with gentle touches and unassuming gazes. Different from last night, he doesn’t hide behind his mask and instead lets his emotions move across his features in waves. I watch as it shifts from wonder to a soft happiness, my lips finding his when his expression tightens with memories that he can’t shake. His exhale is shaky after and I cup his chin with my palm, my gaze searching. 

“Are you okay?” I whisper, needing to hear it. 

“I am -  _ will _ be,” he murmurs in reply and tightens his arm around my waist, drawing me so closely to his chest that I feel like we could become one soul. 

It’s the sound of tiny feet sprinting down the hall that eventually makes him reluctantly withdraw. Easing himself away from my side, Gilbert climbs out of the bed and steps towards his dresser just as the door whacks open and bounces off the wall.

"Shh!" He hisses to Davy, the sound making the boy stop dead in his tracks. Gilbert shoots me a wink before grabbing another set of clothes from the drawer, turning and walking towards the door. "Let's let her sleep for a little bit longer, alright?" Gilbert whispers and behind me I hear the door click closed as I'm left once more in Gilbert's bed.

By the time I make it downstairs the house is already alive with the noise of the day, the twins preparing for their last day of school before the break. Neither seem keen to go, tears being shed as Marilla helps them put on their winter clothes.

"How about I walk you guys to school?" I offer as Davy complains about the socks in his boots. Dora stops her crying at that, looking over at me with wide eyes. 

"You're not leaving today?" She worries aloud. The question makes me pause and I chew the inside of my cheek as I look towards Marilla in silent permission. 

"I'm not sure just yet but I do know I'll be here when you get home," I answer evenly. "So what do you say? Can I walk with you?" 

Their excitement and agreement carries us out of the yard, pausing on the way to put my things in my car before heading down the road at a brisk pace, Davy often running along ahead to find something to bring back and show us as we go. When we reach the school I'm quickly introduced to the yard monitor before the twins take off to find their friends, leaving me to watch them run like wild things in the yard.

The bell ringing has me turning on my heel, heading back down the path we'd come along and into the shelter of the forest. Between the trees, the snow is uneven, blown and settled in places where the wind couldn't reach. I take the trail slowly and marvel at the beauty of it, the magical scene before me making my imagination spark with wonder. I could write sagas about the lives between these trees, the scope of possibility beyond my comprehension as I wander fourth.

"You look like a wood nymph," Gilbert says as I jump and look up from where I'd been investigating the trunk of a particularly gnarled tree.

"How - where did you come from?" I scold, embarrassed by being caught unaware.

"Marilla said you took the kids to school so I figured I'd take the morning off and join you. Would you rather I didn't?" He pauses and though I feel like he's joking, there's a hint of nerves in his expression that makes me realize he half expects me to push him away again. 

"Oh, no!" I exclaim and move towards him. "I was just surprised you were able to find me."

"I grew up walking these paths, you forget," he chides as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, that playful look that made him look more boyish sparkling in his eye. It was the same look that made a burst of want riddle down to my toes. "What were you so engrossed in?"

"I was imagining the beings that would live here, that would make their home out of something so magnificent," I answer as he steps closer, leaning over my shoulder to look into the hollow. I feel his heat at my back, surrounding me and enticing me to lean back against him. I don't, but I so desperately want to.

"Interesting… I bet they would be hardened but resourceful. Able to make something out of nothing. I envy that in a creature,” he says, pausing to meet my gaze. “While I hate to disrupt your creativity, I was hoping we could go for a ramble, perhaps check out some of my favourite haunts if you'd like?"

"That sounds like a perfect way to spend the morning," I reply and step into pace with him.

He leads me first to a frozen creek that snakes through the trees, it’s path solid but for a few open spots where the current bubbles below a thin layer of ice and the light flickers in the moving shards. Onward we push, stumbling upon a bramble patch that he'd once chased a fox into as a boy now covered in a thick layer of snow. He regales me with scrapes and near misses from his youth, telling me about a rude classmate named Billy who grew up into an aged footballer with a paunch belly and inconsistent facial hair. 

When we reach the road again he leads me up a path along its edge, telling me of the blooms that fill the canopy of trees overhead in the spring making it look like low-hanging clouds. All around us are sights and memories of a childhood well spent, adventures that he could only have had because the Cuthberts took him in instead of the system, and I'm grateful for them giving him his childhood back. For giving me the opportunity to know him now as a man who is loved and gives love in return.

"And this is the edge of the Blythe orchard. Beyond that hill is the house and further still is the hive we manage to pollinate the trees," he adds proudly, looking towards me with a wide smile.

"This place… You're so lucky to have grown up here. I miss Matthew more now for realizing the home he gave you," I admit softly, watching as his expression falters. For a moment I think he's going to break, his brow tightening, before I reach up and wrap my arms around him. I wasn't sorry for bringing Matthew up, not when he deserved to be remembered fondly in moments like this. So instead I offer the comfort Gilbert seeks as he lets me in, holding him close as we stand together on the edge of his property. 

When we eventually break apart again I don't let him go far, my mittened hand linking with his as we walk along the fenceline and the farmhouse comes into sight. It's quaint, unassuming, and I can almost picture Gilbert running through its yard as a kid.

"Do you want to see the inside?" He asks as he catches me staring, my mind filling with imaginations of his life before Redmond.

"If you want to show me," I counter and am tugged along behind him, his strides through the snow hard to match until we reach the porch.

Inside the small building the furniture is covered in sheets, the walls tacked with sparse family photos and bits of a life from long ago. We bang our boots at the door and tour through the kitchen and living room, trudging up the stairs until we're standing at the door of his childhood bedroom. It's the only one that has any trace of recent life, the furniture uncovered and a stack of books sitting on the corner of his desk.

"Sometimes I stay here when I need to get work done," he says lowly, hovering in the doorframe as I run my finger over his bookshelf, pausing to read the titles before turning to look at him.

"You don't mind staying here by yourself?" I ask softly as I pull my gloves off and loosen my scarf. The house was kept just warm enough to keep the pipes from freezing and I feel the heat more the longer I stand in his room, my mind filling with thoughts of him that surely didn’t help.

"Sometimes I prefer it. Nobody racing into my room in the morning or distracting me," he counters and steps into the space, matching my movements before he settles on the edge of the bed.

“I can see how that would be appealing,” I answer and glance towards him from my place at the window. He stares at me as I hover in the morning light, twisting my fingers together as I shift before him. 

There was an agreement unspoken between us in that moment, one that we had started months ago and that led to the here and now. I could feel the electric string pulling us together, lighting as his smile shifts and he tugs at the zipper to his jacket. I match him this time and slip my arms from the sleeves of my own coat, turning to settle the garment onto his desk chair as he comes up behind me. 

His fingers graze the exposed skin of my neck and I look at him over my shoulder, a small smile growing as his own breaks free on his lips. I turn into him and let him lift me onto the edge of the desk, my knees bracketing his hips as he presses closer still.

"Is this alright?" He asks gently, watching my face for any trace of withdrawal. We both knew it was necessary to check, my pattern having been established and needing that second of doubt. But all he finds when he looks this time is acceptance, willingness, and a healthy serving of want.

"More than alright," I answer and laugh as he sighs and tightens his hands on my waist.

His lips find mine, seeking and pressing, drifting over my chin to my neck and the sensitive place below my ear. All the while my fingers tangle in the sides of his shirt, holding him close as he leans over me. Unwilling to hold back any longer I tug the cloth covering his shoulders, guiding it up and over his head as he breaks away to catch his breath. My legs tighten around his hips and I run my hands from his neck to his belt, holding him to me as he looks down at me.

"I want you. As more than a friend or a one night stand or as some kind of distraction. I promise not to spook like a rabbit this time. I don't plan on going anywhere," I whisper steadily as his gaze burns into mine. It was a truth that needed to be said, my own self-doubts chronically hovering in the back of my mind. 

"I didn't bring - I mean, I didn't plan for this today. I don't have anything for protection so we don't have to - " 

"I've got it covered, unless you're worried about other stuff? I've been tested and I'm clean but it's okay if you didn't want to risk it or - "

"I'm clean too," he adds quickly, stopping my rambles in their tracks. "It's okay if you need more time though," he offers softly as I exhale with the weight of it. He was giving me an out, a chance to run away, but all I wanted was to run  _ to _ him, not _ from _ him. And so when he reaches his hand up to cup my chin gently I lean into it, resting my hand over his knuckles and moving his palm to my lips, placing a kiss along the lifeline that runs there.

"I don't, but if you need - "

"All I need - want - is you," he murmurs and it's what I need to hear to push myself from the desk and steer us back towards the small bed.

We collapse onto its frame, the squeak of the mattress making me laugh as I realize just how thankful I am that the house is empty and no one is around to hear our movements echoed throughout the building. My laughter is short lived though as he silences me with his mouth on mine, his body pressing into me and reminding me of the mess of feelings that were unresolved from this morning.

Clothes are discarded, hands trace across dips and plains as fingers graze over spots that make us gasp. Gilbert is the first to break the silence as he curses under his breath, his muscles twitching as I trail kisses to his hip. With my gaze turned upward towards him, I sink further and run my hands under the edge of his jeans until he groans and rocks his hips towards me.

"Jesus," he hisses, reaching for my hand and pulling me back up to his level. In a quick move he twists until I'm on my back, his fingers working at my belt and removing my pants in quick succession as he kneels above me. 

When I lay before him in only my underwear he manages to whisper something I don't quite catch, my skin flushing with nervous energy as he appraises me.

"Stop staring," I instruct, my arms coming to cover my torso in defence.

"I can't help it. You've stunned me with how beautiful you are," he remarks and when he catches my gaze once more there's something in his eyes that makes my heart skip. 

Slowly, as I grow accustomed to the chill in the room, Gilbert turns his attention to his own state of dress and removes his pants to match me. With his clothes in a pile at the side of the bed he rejoins me on the mattress, hovering over me as I reach up towards him and pull him against me. 

We descend into each other then, submerging ourselves in the touch and the heat and the want that pours out of us both. When there's nothing left between us I urge Gilbert onto his back and sink back down to his waist, taking his length between my lips and revelling in the sounds he makes as a hand clenches in my hair.

Eventually, a tug signals me to pull back and I let him guide me up to straddle his hips, his waist, and then further still until he's resting below the crux of my thighs. His tongue licks and tastes as his fingers explore, priming me into a shivering mess as I grip the headboard to keep from falling onto the floor.

"Come here," I gasp as I near the edge, my body thrumming and alive. I shift off of him and pull him up to eye level with me, my taste on his lips as his arms pull me tightly against him. 

He joins us together in a measured thrust, his arms wrapping around my torso and his fingers clenching at my shoulder and neck to keep me tight against him. I feel his heavy breath on my chest, his heart beating under his skin as I shift and move in tandem with him. There's no thought, no time for anything as we push and pull and work together to bring ourselves to the peak. All that exists is our bodies pressed together, our lips a breath apart as I feel the wave of the orgasm threaten to overtake me.

It hits me like a brick, my whole body tightening as I cry out and cling desperately to him. He fights to hold on, revelling in the way my body shivers above him before he gasps and swears aloud, holding me in place as his hips jerk up into me with his release.

The aftermath is like a forest coming alive after a storm, our bodies slowly coming back to the world of the living as our skin starts to chill. Eventually we shift and Gilbert manages to pull the comforter from the floor over us, our frames too big for the tiny bed but somehow we make it work as we tangle tightly together to keep the world at bay a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, we're really on the upswing now. Thank you all for your comments and love so far - three chapters left after this one!


	15. Harvest Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harvest Moon - Neil Young
> 
> *Note: If you have never given Neil Young a chance because you think he's too old for you, or he doesn't fit your musical ~aesthetic, I'm going to need you to give this man another chance. He's an incredible activist, his words are poetry, and when he plays a set he can go for 3+ hours straight. He is a legend.

We hide away in the safety of the Blythe farmstead, finding each other in the quiet space carved out just for us. The gentle afternoon makes my mind spin with hopeful possibilities, the ideas for solutions to Green Gables’ problems coming in quick succession as we joke and tease and play as though we're only starting out as strangers. As though the last weeks of hurt were long forgotten already.

"What if you came back to school and _ both _ of us came up every weekend until the term ended?" I offer as he rolls his head back against the wall.

"That's not a solution," he laughs, reaching his hand out to grasp mine. 

“Well, maybe if I get kicked out I can come replace you. I’m sure I can figure out all of this farming stuff - “ 

“You’re not going to get kicked out, Anne,” Gilbert assures as I sigh at the dismissal. "I wouldn't protest if you came out to visit me regularly when I move back though. Just to, you know, keep a young man alive when everything he’s worked so hard for starts to fall apart."

"Stop it - I'm not going to let you give up on your dream because things are hard. You didn't give up on me so you better realize I'm definitely not giving up on you. How about this - what if it's sold to a caretaker for a set term? And like, the profits are shared in lieu of rent on the land or something?" I attempt. This was the real idea I needed to float, one that could improve the lives of most everyone I held dear all at once if it worked.

"Since when have you studied farming economics?" He counters to my groan at his dismissal.

"No! I mean, you need someone to manage the property, take on the farming duties but still support Green Gables peripherally. What if you found someone who would do that?" 

"Nobody would take on these properties - "

"What if I knew someone who would be interested?" I interject. Gilbert stills, his brows lifting in question. 

"You know farmers? How did I not know this? Is it a fetish you haven't told me about?"

"No!" I groan and scoot forward, my hands resting on his knees as I smile up at him, determined to make him see my vision. "Remember how I told you about the Lacroix's? Sebastian, he's a farmer and he's been trying to get his own piece of land for years but the price in Nova Scotia is too high. What if you two and Marilla could work out a deal? Would you do it?"

“He’d have to be crazy to up and leave his job for this,” Gilbert sighs, rubbing his hands across his face. 

“Gil, he kind of is. Him and Mary are a bit mad but that’s what makes them such good candidates. They could keep Green Gables and your orchard functioning while you finish school and  _ when, _ not if, you get into med school you can work out the details then. It would let you live the life you want while still making sure Marilla doesn’t have to leave her family home,” I finish. He looks at me from between his fingers, the idea finally taking root in his realm of possibility. “I don’t want to tell you what to do and that’s not what I’m trying to do here. I just want you to be happy and this might be worth at least looking into.” 

"How would you go about setting this up?" He asks after a moment, leaning forward and finally opening up to my plan.

We spend the next hour throwing options together, thinking through different offers and ideas on how it might work. With each passing moment Gilbert seems more invested, more hopeful with the possibility that this could be a way for him to have it all, and I can't help but feel my heart soar as his mood truly lightens for the first time since the funeral. Maybe I could be here for him. Maybe this was something I was actually good at after all.

When I do eventually look down at my phone later that afternoon I'm surprised at the time, my body hopping up from where I've been lounging in his embrace and enjoying the feel of him at my back.

"What's the rush?" He asks, pulling the blankets protectively around him with the loss of my body heat.

"The kids! I promised them I would be there when they got home from school!" I shout as I stumble in my rush to pull on my pants.

"It's that late?" Gilbert replies and gets to his feet too, looking at his phone to check the time and groaning as he realizes I'm right. I shoot him a withering look and he only smiles wider, catching me around the waist as I struggle with my belt. 

"We're going to be late," I mumble as his teeth nip my ear, his hands roaming over bits of exposed skin as he makes me flush with want. 

"Ten more minutes. They always stay late to play, I promise," he whispers huskily, holding me tight to him as his lips graze along my collar.

I give in without any real resistance, twisting around in his arms and letting him guide me back to the desk we'd perched on earlier. If we were going to do this I didn't have time to think about it - and truthfully, I didn't really want to hesitate either. I needed him like oxygen and his body pressed to mine told me without question that he needed me too. 

Quick movements push the pants I'd already managed to pull on back to my knees, his fingers finding my centre and slipping inside as I nearly collapse under his touch. Where before had been soft and slow, now I couldn't stand to be without him a moment longer. So I don't. Turning to face the desk I pull him against my back as he guides his length between my folds, pushing into me and knocking me abruptly forward into the wood.

I cry out. Not from surprise or pain or protest, but because the feel of him inside me, finally around me with no need to be quiet, makes me wanton and on fire. His thrusts are unforgiving and I revel in it, linking my fingers with his as he clutches at me, leans over me, shadows me with his frame. The friction between us makes my body sing and as his fingers find my clit I feel my insides burn and tighten around him.

In that moment I was his and he was mine, our bodies striving fourth together, the rush of blood in our veins pumping at the same speed. Each press of his fingers, every tightening of his grip, draws me closer to him in both body and spirit. Though we spin through time like a forest on fire, we were no more out of control than we were finding step with one another.

His hips crash over and over into mine, pushing me against the desk until the wood bruises my thighs and the sharp bite of it causes me to nip at the arm he holds me steady with. I feel alive as his breath pants over my shoulder, his grunts puffing my hair as my hands desperately try to gain purchase to keep me upright when all I want to do is fall apart below him. My orgasm strikes me like lightning, bolting from my core to my limbs and making my body tighten as he pulls me up and against his chest. His thrusts lose their rhythm then and he gasps into my ear as his whole body tenses, a breathless groan escaping his throat as he empties himself inside me.

We collapse into a spent pool of arms and legs, intertwined together on the hardwood as we fight to catch our breath. With my head resting on his chest I feel his fingers tighten between where they're wrapped up with mine, his lips dragging gently along my shoulder as he sighs and tries to shift infinitely closer.

"I think I love you, Anne-girl," he whispers lowly, almost too low for me to hear it. I take his confession in and digest it, my heart racing now not just from the fevered coupling but from his truth laid out bare before me. 

"I think I love you too," I murmur in return and the admission shocks me, the words having slipped out without a filter. I debate whether to pull it back, to correct it and save myself.

_ But you do love him _ , my mind urges as I chew the inside of my cheek. And my brain was right. I did, didn't I? 

_ I look at Gilbert across the library, watching as he pours a cup of coffee into two cups, adding an extra packet of sugar to the second one before heading back towards my table. It was late - too late - and the coffee shop in the building was finally closed but I was in desperate need of caffeine to survive this paper and he’d offered to bring me some and I couldn’t say no because I needed -  _

_ “And an extra sweet, for you,” he breaks into my rambling, exhausted thoughts, setting the cup down at my elbow and leaning back in the lounge chair he’d pulled over to my study cubicle.  _

_ “You didn’t have to do that. You don’t have to stay here. You can go home and sleep,” I mumble, rubbing my temples as I try to figure out how to word this sentence for the umpteenth time.  _

_ “I know,” he counters softly, so lowly that I look up to find him watching me with a curious gaze. I wished he would kiss me again like that time in the field. That he’d pull me into his lap and rub my scalp until this headache would dissipate and I could lose myself in him. But I couldn’t do that. I’d told myself that I couldn’t let him in and I was determined not to. Right? “I want to make sure you finish this essay. Plus, when you’re a big famous writer I’ll be able to tell people about the time I watched you struggle with writing a scientific paper for the first time.”  _

_ “It’s just so stupid. I can’t get the phrasing right!” I groan and drop my forehead to the desk with a thump.  _

_ “You don’t have to - that’s the beauty of them! You’re overthinking it,” he says and suddenly his voice is closer, the warmth of his hand snaking up to cup the back of my neck. His fingers rub gently at the tension there and I twist to look at where he crouches beside me, an understanding smile on his lips. “You’re almost done. Just forget the style of it and tap out a conclusion so we can go home.”  _

_ He’d said ‘home’ as though it was ours and I’d never wanted anything as badly as I wanted something in my entire life. I wanted to have a home with him. I wanted  _ him _ to be my home.  _

_ Maybe I’d been stupid to keep him at arms length. Maybe I’d kept him at a distance long enough.  _

After everything I'd been through, after every time I tried to push him away, it had always been him that I'd wanted to come and hold me. And I wanted to be that person for him. That's why I'd come to Avonlea, truthfully. He'd needed me and I didn't want him to have to face this loss alone. We were a pair fated together and I could do nothing more to thwart it.

"Where are you right now?" He asks after a moment, his fingers brushing my hair back from my face. The gentleness has returned to his touch and I relish it as much as the hurried push and pull of before.

"I'm here, with you," I answer and lift my chin to meet his gaze head on. The hazel colour shifts in the afternoon sun and his smile grows as he leans in to capture my lips with his. 

We don't speak much as we get dressed, our words unnecessary now that we'd let slip our truths. So instead we focus on tidying one another up as we pull on our layers and exit the house to step back into the snow. I hold his hand all the way down the path towards Green Gables, for the first time in months at peace with myself and the choices I've made. 

The walk back to the farm is quick and I'm thankful of that as the chill sets in and the sun sinks lower on the horizon. 

"I don't think I'm going to stay long after the kids get back," I say as we reach the fence at the end of the Cuthbert's property. Gilbert lifts his brows in surprise, pausing his step and pulling me up short beside him.

"Are you sure you'll be okay to drive back tonight?" He counters with understanding in his voice, only a hint of hesitation in his words. We both knew I needed to give the household some time to find their new routine, to figure out what the world looked like without someone who meant so much, but after this afternoon and us finally finding some solid footing together, neither of us really wanted to go it alone.

"Yeah, I'll be okay. It's not snowing so as long as I can get across the bridge it should be fine. What about your car? Do you want me to drop you at it when I go?" 

"Nah, it'll be fine there for another day or so," he replies and I look up at him, his face hardening the nearer we get to the house, like he was preparing to put his mask back in place.

"It's going to be alright," I offer softly, linking our arms and holding him close to try to bolster him before we head inside. He sighs and pulls me against him, his arms tightening around me as he tucks his face into my shoulder. Drawing in a shaking breath, he exhales and pulls back, ready to face the challenges ahead once more.

Back at Green Gables, Marilla appraises us with a sharp eye, her brow lifting as she flicks her gaze between our hands and our faces. With her stoic expression she turns and heads down the hall without a word, returning with a scarf in hand and thrusting it towards me.

"Best cover up before the kids get home, don't want them to think you're on the way out of this world too," she chides, though her lips give way to a small smile as she heads back towards the kitchen. 

With my heart in my throat I clutch my hands to my neck, escaping to the bathroom down the hall and looking pointedly in the mirror. There, at the crux of my neck and shoulder, is a growing discoloration, the kind brought on by an afternoon of necking shamelessly in an old farmhouse.

"Gil!" I groan, slapping at his arm as I join him on the couch, the scarf securely around my collar.

"Don't blame me! You're the one who was too irresistible!" He counters and pulls me towards him, stealing a kiss from my scolding lips. "Look on the bright side though, we made it back before the twins."

I relent, leaning against him as he wraps his arm around my shoulders. "Fine. But if it doesn't disappear before Christmas dinner I'm not going to be responsible for Bash's reaction."

"About that… What would you say if we combined our dinners? Do you think they would come out here and maybe we could feel out their interest in taking this place on?" 

"I can ask. I know Mary has been hoping I'd invite you to one of our weekly dinners so maybe she'd be so blinded by finally getting to meet you that she wouldn't protest it," I joke and he sighs, looking at me with a small smile.

"I'm charming enough to make it work, you know." 

I pat his chest and curl in closer, holding in my laughter. "I know. You've just gotta sell it to Marilla first - "

"Sell me what?" The woman in question asks just as the kids barrel through the front door, racing towards us. The attention in the room splinters and I realize the twins couldn’t have picked a better time to return home. 

"Why don't we go out to the kitchen?" Gilbert responds quickly, disengaging from me and getting to his feet. I squeeze his hand before letting go, a silent show of support before the twins drag me from the couch.

I join them on the floor and only half pay attention, one ear trained towards the hushed voices in the other room. When the voices start to rise I swallow thickly, slowly getting to my feet.

"I think it's best I start getting ready to leave," I tell Davy reluctantly, brushing my hands along my pants to wipe the sweat from my palms. 

"You don't have to go! They talk like this all the time now that - that Matthew isn't here," Dora pauses and swallows back her tears, looking at me with watery eyes. She tries to smile though we both feel the rush of a loss, hers more prominent than mine.

"Oh, it's not because of that," I lie, unwilling to let them see my nerves at the argument brewing in the next room as I try to continue on moving. I didn't want to cause any strife between Gilbert and Marilla - not when things were already tense. I just wanted them happy and for neither of them to lose what mattered to them. "I need to get on the road before the sun goes down is all. I'll come visit you guys again though, alright?" I add, hoping it's true and that Marilla wouldn't expel me forever for suggesting such a ridiculous plan.

"Well you need to say goodbye to them! Gilbert, Marilla, Anne's going to leave so you should come say goodbye!" Davy calls and gets to his feet, rushing into the kitchen to interrupt their discussion in only the way a child can. 

I take the opportunity to walk towards the entryway, grabbing my things that I'd set out earlier and pulling on my coat. My heart hammers in my chest as Gilbert and Marilla exit the kitchen, Marilla's arms crossed over her chest as she looks at me.

"Marilla, thank you for accommodating me again on such short notice," I say in a rush, my cheeks reddening under her stare.

"You're always welcome here, Anne," she replies, breaking the tension by stepping towards me and opening her arms. I hesitate for a moment before pushing the worries from my mind and returning the hug she offers. "Don't worry about bringing the scarf back. It looks better on you than it ever did on me," she adds in my ear and I squeeze her to me before leaning back with a smile.

"I hope to see you again soon," I say and crouch down to give farewell hugs to the twins. 

When all my goodbyes are said I turn to where Gilbert has joined me at the entryway, his jacket and boots on. I raise my eyebrows in question and he motions towards the door.

"I'll follow you out."

We walk silently together towards my car, coming up short near its bumper as I look up at him.

"Everything okay?" I ask, unsure where I stood after the odd exchange inside. 

"We're figuring it out," he replies with a shrug. I reach for his lapels and tug him towards me, smiling up at him.

"You can tell me if it's a bad idea, Gil. I'm not going to be upset."

"It's not that. We barely even got to that," he chuckles and meets my gaze for the first time since coming outside. "She's just trying to make sure I grew up right. By her standards, at least." 

"What does that even mean?" I counter, watching as his cheeks flush.

"I'm sure it's 100% related to that scarf you're wearing right now," he answers and I nearly choke, my mouth falling open in surprise.

"She didn't - "

"She did," he laughs, nodding and looking away towards the barn. "Told me just because Matthew wasn't here to take up a switch that she wasn't opposed to giving me a lashing if I got you pregnant before you could finish school. And the emphasis was definitely on  _ you _ finishing, not me."

"Honestly," I moan and cover my face in embarrassment, groaning as I try to disappear.

"Don't. Don't hide that smile from me, it's been months since I've really seen it," he whispers and drags my hands from my face. I glance up at him and sigh as he takes the opportunity to pull me against him, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that curls my toes.

"I really should go," I murmur as we break apart, his fingers grazing against my cheeks, unwilling to let me go just yet.

"When will I see you again?" He asks softly.

"Were you planning on coming back to the mainland anytime soon?" I counter instead. Would he ever come back at all? Or was this where I would find him now, a man of the Island?

"I have some graded papers to hand in before next term so if the dinners don't work I'll come down after," he pauses, inching closer. "Do you want to stay with me while I'm there? I seem to recall you mentioning the girls were going home for break so maybe I can keep you company instead. Perhaps spend New Year's together?"

"I'd like that," I answer to his growing smile. 

“And you’ll tell me if you get any news about your status with the school?” I nod, chewing the inside of my lip with the reminder. I should know soon, at least, and then I can just get on with it. Maybe  _ I’ll  _ be the one relocating to Green Gables if I get kicked out. "I'll hopefully see you at Christmas then and we can drive back together," he adds and I sigh, gathering him close for one last hug. 

"I wish we could just skip to then."

"Me too. Time will fly by though, I promise. Now get in your car and leave before I make up a reason to keep you here another night," he urges and withdraws fully from me, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

I roll my eyes and step towards the car, pausing before turning once more towards him and pulling him down to my level. The kiss is anything but chaste and when he returns it just as thoroughly as I, I can't help but smile against his lips.

"I'll see you soon, Gil," I bid and flatten his collar where I'd turned it up, spinning on my heel and dropping into the driver's seat before I can change my mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - we're getting close to the end now. I'm tossing around a few other story ideas at the moment but I can't seem to strike the right balance of light and dark to write something I like. So, if you have a prompt or an idea that you think I should take a shot at (light or dark, I'll try them both) feel free to send it through to my Tumblr at lollercakesff and I'll see if I can figure it out.


	16. Maybe This Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe This Christmas - Ron Sexsmith

My face burns as I sit in the backseat of the Lacroix's car, Bash's teasing far beyond anything that I could imagine on the car ride out to the Island.

It was Christmas Day and we'd come across over the bridge, the drive taking longer than expected due to the thick clouds of snow that persisted across the region. Bash didn't mind the longer route and I'd argue he was even relishing the chance to come up with new jokes ahead of meeting Gilbert, even getting a laugh out of Mary at one point who kept shooting me sympathetic looks.

"Is this actually an engagement announcement?" Bash asks as I direct him up the long driveway towards Green Gables. My heart thumps heavily in my chest as I look towards the brightly lit building.

"Stop," Mary hushes, squeezing her husband's arm.

"What? I would just like to be prepared to say yes and figure out her dowry worth!" Bash replies laughingly and even this gets a smile out of me, his eyes catching mine in the rear view mirror.

"No. I can assure you there will be no marriage proposal tonight," I answer. I stop myself before I can add that there might be other proposals put on the table tonight.

Gilbert and I had spent the past few days working out the plan together, hours spent on the phone talking about the details and trying to think through every argument that could potentially be raised after Marilla agreed to at least consider the arrangement.

_ "So she's on board?" I ask as Gilbert leans over his papers to pickup the phone and look at it for the first time since we started the call almost an hour ago. He'd been trying to finish the grading that was due just after the holidays so that he could focus on keeping the farm running and bringing Davy up to speed on what needed to get done while he was away at school. _

_ "She's willing to talk about it. She obviously wants to meet them before she makes any decisions but this is a good start. Have you asked them about Christmas dinner yet?"  _

_ "I did, though we didn't get into why I was inviting them. Bash was ready to pull out his shotgun when I was trying to explain it," I add with a laugh as Gilbert's face blanches. _

_ "But that's not possible - right?" _

_ "No! God no. Please, give me some credit," I shout and watch as his shoulders relax, the muscle in his cheek stopping its twitch. "They couldn't get past how excited they were to meet you, so it'll probably be a surprise to bring this up to them. Plus, we can celebrate my living to study another year." _

_ “You got the notice?” His full attention is on me now, his eyes searching my face. _

_ “Yes. It came from Professor Stacy by email this morning. She said she went to a meeting with the Dean. She made him read my story and said she couldn't in good conscience stand by and let him expel me, especially if she was sending my work off to publishers on my behalf - " _

_ "Publishers? Anne! Publishers?"  _

_ "She sent it to a dozen places in Toronto and will hear back in the new year. That doesn’t matter though because the big news here is that I'm not getting expelled. I don't have to leave school!" _

_ "I'm so happy for you… but you know this means our Plan C where you move out here is out the window, right?" He counters teasingly as I roll my eyes. _

_ "You would never have let me do it anyways. You'd ship me to Moncton before I quit school." _

_ "You bet I would. We're in this together." _

Now I was on my way to a family dinner that could be either the best or worst idea I've ever had and I couldn't stop my foot from bouncing on the floor of the car.

"Look at this spread! The way the light catches on the snow - " Bash crows, putting his fingers to his lips in a chef's kiss. " - What a dreamscape you've brought us to for this dinner of yours."

We pull into a parking spot to the side of Gilbert's car and my agreements die in my throat, nerves finally fraying as I look towards the windows and the shadows beyond. Two tiny faces disappear from the frame and I know it's only a matter of time before they come crashing out to meet us. 

"One final rule," I shout as Mary and Bash open their doors. I look at them over the top of the car, making prolonged eye contact with each of them. "No - absolutely none - of - oof!" 

"You made it!" Gilbert's voice greets as he spins me in his arms, his embrace tightening around me for a blissful moment.

"Hmm, I guess that rule didn't count then," Bash calls and I find myself reluctantly pulling back from Gilbert's arms and looking towards them with reddened cheeks.

"Mary, Bash, this is Gilbert Blythe. Be nice to him," I say with a warning edge in my voice, the two people closest to being family to me trying to hide the way their grin's grow.

"Now, now, Carrots, let's give them a fighting - " I step on Gilbert's toe and his words die on his lips, laughter beginning to bubble between us. 

"Nice to meet you, brother. Why don't you show us inside before you put your foot further down your throat?" Bash says, coming around the hood of the car and wrapping his arm around Mary's shoulders. Gilbert nods, turns and motions towards the house, leading us quickly into the warmth of the Cuthbert home.

Inside the place is tidy, the barest hints of tasteful decorations strung up around where a Christmas tree has been setup. I scan the place for the twins, surprised that they haven't collided with me yet.

"Let me take your coats," Marilla greets, introducing herself before steering Bash and Mary towards the living room. I move to follow but Gilbert tugs gently at my hand, holding me back beside him. 

I twist to face him, ready to ask him what's wrong, when his hands drop to my waist and he pulls me tight against him. His lips find mine in a gentle kiss, one that makes my body flush with the want to deepen it. Instead I lift my arms to wrap around his neck, holding him to me as my knees weaken with the way his tongue dips into my mouth. I don't feel us moving until my back is pressed up against the wall, a small squeak escaping me as he groans at the back of his throat.

"Oh, well, excuse me then. Just looking for the washroom," Bash chuckles, his Caribbean accent lilting with the laughter he holds back from his interruption. I was of half a mind to think he’d come out here to catch us on purpose - but then I realized I didn’t have to care. This was where I wanted to be and I knew that now. So what if he caught me red-cheeked and happy? I had nothing to be ashamed of.

I feel Gilbert jump back a step though, his own cheeks vibrant as he looks between us with wide eyes. 

"Don't worry, brother, I'm not her father. Just don't forget I  _ do _ own a shotgun, alright?" Bash adds and Gilbert's mouth opens with no words falling out, his expression stunned as the man slips into the bathroom.

I laugh because it's all I can do, my head shaking with the exchange. When Gilbert looks back at me the panic is clear on his face, the scene only making me laugh harder.

"They're never going to agree to work with me now," Gilbert groans lowly. I reach up and cup his chin with my hands, my thumbs brushing gently along his evening stubble.

"I've walked in on them doing much worse so he's got no ground to stand on, okay? Come here," I add and drag his lips back down to mine. I keep the kiss chaste but affirming, leaning back to watch as the stunned look shifts across his face for a moment. 

"I've missed you," he whispers, resting his forehead against mine and nudging our noses together.

"Missed you too. Missed this place. Missed the twins - where are they?" I question. It's Gilbert's turn to laugh, his frame stepping away from mine just as the door to the bathroom opens again.

"You guys still at it?" Bash calls from between the crack.

"No, it's safe," I respond and smile widely as the man escapes the small room and skips back down the hall to join Marilla and Mary in the living room.

"They are working on a surprise for you. Said they couldn't be distracted until they were done," Gilbert answers and leads me down the hallway towards the others.

We join the room and I try to hide my blush as Mary asks about Marilla's borrowed scarf, the subject of conversation clear as soon as we settle into one of the couches. Gilbert chokes at the mention, his fingers squeezing my hip before his hand withdraws to his lap and I spare a glance towards him. He lifts his eyebrows with a pointed look and I sigh, resting my hand over his with a smirk. 

“Why are you guys being so cute right now? Anne, this is not what we discussed in the car. You said there would be no proposals tonight and - “ 

“Proposals?” Gilbert hisses and I feel him tense up, my head shaking with the way Bash seemed to pick so easily at his weak spots. 

“He’s just kidding. Right, Bash?” I scold, looking at him with a warning glance. Marilla is the first to laugh, a surprising sound escaping her as she looks between us all. 

“Is he though?” Marilla chides, lifting her hand in uncharacteristic flippancy. “Let’s open that bottle of wine on the table and get down to it.” 

“Down to… What, exactly?” Mary counters, the smile on her lips hesitating. I spare a tense glance at Gilbert who squeezes my hand, his breathing tightening in his chest. 

“We have a proposal,” Gilbert says evenly, the silence startled only by Bash bursting to his feet, his eyes wide as he lets out a whoop before doing a quick two-step. 

“I was  _ right _ ! I was right!” He announces to the room, looking between all of us with an unwavering grin. 

“Sit down before you fall down,” Mary hisses, pulling at his wrist to drag him back into his seat. “Clearly that’s not what’s happening here, is it Anne?” She continues tightly, her brow worried as she looks across the room at me. 

I realize then what she must be thinking. That maybe I’d really gone and lost myself, had made a mistake I couldn’t come back from and now this was all I had to keep me together. I couldn’t blame her for making that assumption - not after the last time she picked me up off the floor - but I needed her to know this was not that before she really started to put up walls. 

“It’s not what’s happening, I promise. This is different. It’s not even really about us. It’s about you guys, and Marilla, and Green Gables,” I reply, looking around at all of them. I get to my feet and pull Gilbert up beside me, motioning towards the kitchen. “Let’s go sit at the table and talk.” 

We settle quietly around the carefully set table, Marilla at head with her hands clasped together as she motions for Gilbert to start. 

“We’d like to see if you would be interested in taking over some of Green Gables’ farmland and the Blythe orchard. I’m on a path to medical school and I won’t be able to spend the next few years keeping the farm up and Matthew - Marilla’s brother - recently passed and they don’t have anyone who can maintain the property, not yet anyways.” 

“You want us to buy two plots of land? Out of the blue?” Mary asks, looking at us all with wide eyes. 

“Well, not exactly,” Gilbert pauses, shifting in his chair and looking at me for reassurance. I nod back at him, offering him the strength to continue. “We’d be interested in coming to a beneficial agreement for us both.” 

“You want us to sharecrop your land?” Bash interjects and his voice turns hard, his eyes narrowing as he looks at me as though he doesn’t recognize who he sees. “Like during Jim Crow?” 

My eyes widen as I realize what this must sound like, the idea making my insides hurt with the realization. 

“No. That isn’t what we mean at all,” Gilbert says sharply, shutting down the notion in its tracks. “I want to give you the orchard in return for your help keeping Green Gables operational. I’m asking for a trade, if you will - land for assistance. No cost and for a set term, at least until I can manage to come back and help keep it running if necessary.” 

“You want to give us your farm?” Mary sputters. I watch as she twists to look at me, her eyes wide. “This crazy boy wants to give us his legacy for what? Some afternoon labour during harvest season? Have you all lost your damn minds?” 

“I can assure you they’ve been cooking this up in their right minds for some time now,” Marilla breaks in, leaning forward to look at Mary and Bash. “My brother did his very best to keep this farm up and running until his last days. It’s been in my family for over a century and I don’t want to sell off pieces of it until there’s nothing left. I’d rather leave it to my family - to Gilbert or the twins, whoever is able to manage it once I’m gone. But I can’t keep it going in the meantime, I don’t have the capacity to do that anymore and so when they brought me this crazy plan I too, at first, thought it was madness.

“But then we talked it through - Gilbert told me of his plans to eventually sell off the orchard once he made it through school and Anne told me about the hard-working couple who helped her on the mainland, how they wanted their own plot of land to call their own and it seemed Providential for this all to come to light now, at this crossroads.” 

“We wanted to talk to you and offer it to you first, if you wanted it. You don’t have to take it - it’s essentially taking on two farms for now - but it would give you the start you’ve always wanted. And these are good people, I promise you that,” I add as I look between Mary and Bash, my hands reaching to clasp around Mary’s. 

“How do I know this is true? How will I know you’re for real?” Bash asks eventually, his gaze focusing on Gilbert across the table. 

“I’ve asked my lawyer to figure out how to do it with the least tax penalities and draw up the paperwork. The property would be signed over to you and we would sign a separate caretakers contract for Green Gables for a set period of years - all of the details we could discuss more in depth to make sure it works for you and Marilla too. Basically, I was going to sell the land anyways - I can’t farm apples and be a doctor too - that’s not how time works much to my annoyance. So this is a possible solution to keep the Cuthbert land preserved for Marilla’s legacy, if you want to humour us with considering it,” Gilbert finishes and looks around the table. 

“Maybe we should open the wine,” Mary whispers after a moment, looking at her husband and then back to me. I know the look she gives me - the pensive one that meant she was evaluating what was in front of her before she made her move. I’d been on the receiving end of it so many times I’d almost lost count and every time she’d come through, her decision solid. 

“Gladly,” Marilla says and reaches for the bottle. “Anne, now that we’ve dropped our little bomb on the Christmas table, why don’t you head up and round the twins up from their secret project so we can get dinner going?” 

Nodding, I squeeze Mary’s hand once more and then get to my feet, pressing my palm to Bash’s shoulder as his stunned face looks up at me. “Is this for real?” He asks, grabbing my hand to stop me from leaving the room. 

“It’s real, Bash, I wouldn’t let anyone offer you your dream if I knew it wasn’t real. You’re my family, whether you realize it or not, and I will protect you like you’re my brother,” I answer gently before squeezing his shoulder and slipping out of the room to let them sit with the idea. 

Gilbert trails after me as we head up the stairs, our fingers linked as we move through the hallway. I poke my head first in the twins’ room, surprised to find it empty before I still and listen for their whereabouts. There’s a giggle from the guest bedroom and I look back at Gilbert and roll my eyes, opening the door to find Davy jumping on the bed as Dora spins around the space. 

“Anne!” Davy shouts, jumping off of the bed and crashing towards me as his sister stops twirling. “Look what we did for you!” 

The boy points at the bedspread, the haphazardly made bed covered with a cream coloured quilt, a green overlay tucked at the end. “You made a bed and then jumped all over it?” I ask with a laugh, looking towards the boy as Gilbert stifles a laugh behind me. 

“No, silly! Dora stitched the pattern and I sewed the pillow! It’s for your bed, when you come to visit us!” Davy continues loudly and Dora reaches for the object in question, handing it towards me with a tentative smile. 

I take in the cross-stitch, the beautiful design making tears well up in my eyes as I run my fingers over the words and flowers knit into the fabric.  _ Anne of Green Gables _ , the title of the story I’d written, made with love from two adoring kids. 

“They made me a pillow,” I whisper, showing it to Gilbert who rubs his hand across my shoulders. 

“Yep. Marilla said you would need your own room if you were going to show up unannounced every so often,” Dora adds, her voice surprisingly firm as she repeats what Marilla must have told her. I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I remember the last time I’d been here, how I’d slipped into the wrong room on purpose, how she’d chastized Gilbert for accosting me - as though I had no say in the matter. 

“I’ve got my own room,” I add and drop to the floor, pulling the twins into my arms and holding tightly to them. “Thank you both. I will cherish this forever.” 

“Can we show you the posters we put up now?” Davy asks as he pulls away, racing out of the room as I stand back up. 

“Yes - just let me have a moment and I’ll be right over,” I say as Dora follows her brother out of the room. I turn to look at Gilbert, my mouth opening but no words escaping. 

“Davy told her he saw you sleeping in my bed and the scarf affair didn’t help so she said if you were going to wind up here regularly enough, especially if the Lacroix’s move out here, the least she could do was ensure you made it through university without getting pregnant under her roof,” Gilbert laments, shaking his head as the exasperation leaves him. 

“But does this mean I have to stay in here every night by myself?” I murmur, reaching up on my toes to straighten his collar. 

“Only until she falls asleep or she gives up on us,” he answers and leans down to capture my lips with his own. I revel in the moment, a feeling of belonging washing over me in a way that it never had before in my life. I was home, here, with him and the Cuthbert’s and Lacroix’s. They were the family I’d found after all this time and I wouldn’t change it for the world. 

I’d found my place on this little magical Island, with this boy and an old spinster with so much love to give and I knew, without a doubt, that soon the Lacroix’s would find their home here too. We would build our lives here, start anew while continuing generations of love growing on this land. 

I realized then that my life was slowing into a semblance of calm, the pieces that had long been floating aimlessly around me finally starting to fall into place. I wasn’t spinning out like a tornado anymore. I was settling into something solid, stable. I was coming home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, this is the last chapter chapter. There's a brief epilogue still to come because I'm a sucker for time jumps but this is where the storyline settles. I hope the angst was worth it, that the HEA was fulfilling and that the flips and spins of the characters from canon weren't too jarring. 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for coming along on this adventure with me, leaving comments and kudos and generally just being lovely. If you haven't yet joined me on Tumblr, please pop in to say hello at lollercakesff! I'll be participating in the FandomTrumpsHate auction again this year and would be thrilled if any of you wished to participate!


	17. Ahead by a Century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think you really need to know who sings this one.

I look around the room and take in the bright faces that greet me, their wide smiles as they watch the television countdown.

It was New Year's Eve at the Lacroix farmstead, the old Blythe cottage restored and alive once more with new souls eager to take on everything that life had to offer. 

Life had changed for the better in the past year, transforming into something I'd been convinced would never be possible. After that fateful Christmas dinner, the Lacroix's had looked at the terms Gilbert offered and made up their minds by January, uprooting their lives in Halifax and relocating to the Island by the end of February. They hadn't realized then that another change was coming, baby Delphine's arrival happening eight months later just as the first harvest was being reaped.

Marilla had helped as best she could, offering babysitting as they worked the farm and managed the hired hands for the property. Gilbert and I attempted to help too, though his first year of medical school found him stuck on the mainland more often than he liked. I somehow managed to keep things afloat and the bridge between the two families connected, even when the challenges seemed to multiply tenfold.

But we'd weathered it all together and had come out stronger for it, our lives now so intertwined that when Mary asked if I would be the Godmother to little Delly I nearly crumbled in front of her. Gilbert had outright cried at the offer of being her Godfather and Bash refused to stop razzing him about it so long as he lived.

Standing in the corner I watch as Bash bounces a restless Delly on his hip, Mary brushing back her mess of baby curls affectionately. I could see from the exhausted bags under their eyes that they would barely make it to midnight, their determination outweighing their need for sleep but only just. 

"As soon as that ball drops we should take the kids and Marilla back home, give them a chance to get some sleep," Gilbert whispers as he comes up beside me, his fingers grazing up the back of my spine playfully.

"I was thinking the same thing. Only another minute now," I reply and lean into his side. The twins begin their countdown loudly, the sugar still running through their veins as they jump at Marilla's side. Gilbert tugs at my hand and pulls me through the doorway quickly, leaning me against the wall as his lips find mine in a kiss to ring in the new year.

The ball drops, the music plays and I don't get to see the celebrations around me because my attention is focused on Gilbert's lips at my ear.

"You're a published author. You're finishing your BA ahead of schedule to start your Masters early because you hold honours distinctions from a place that once almost lost the privilege of having you. I'm so proud of you for the adversity you've overcome, for the way you've built something so remarkable from so little. You're accomplished, and so loving, the sole keeper of my heart and the fond object of my affections and my desires. Anne, let me be the friend of your heart, the proponent of your happiness," Gilbert whispers, his eyes meeting mine in the low light of the hallway. 

"Don't you dare get on one knee, Gilbert Blythe," I scold, breathless as he smiles down at me. Was this really happening? Was he saying what I think he was saying? 

"Be my life mate Anne. Be  _ my _ Anne with an E," he requests and I feel his fingers pull at my own, a cool band of gold slipping over a knuckle on my left hand. 

“Gil,” I breathe, my hand opening wider so he can slip the ring further onto my finger. 

“Say yes,” he urges and there’s a thrill in his voice, his smile widening as I nod and clasp my hands around his. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” I answer and he crowds in closer, his hands cupping my chin as his lips meet mine to seal in the New Year with a kiss and the promise of building our family  _ together _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it - the end. Bittersweet, I hope, and hopefully not disappointing (even though it's so short!) You all have been wonderful and I appreciate you so much! Thank you for being along with me and supporting me throughout the posting!


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